Peshawa
by Ripper101
Summary: The Peshawa are a certain magical race with a certain reputation. Perhaps the bond between the Goblin King and the Girl is not what it originally seemed. Please note: warnings for slash, gender imbalances and swearing.
1. Chapter 1

Pairing: None right now. There are, however, references to homosexuality as well as heterosexuality, so be warned.

Disclaimer: I simply play with the characters as I perceive them. I have no rights or privileges except that of my own twisted little imagination.

Author's Note: If this first chapter is confusing, bear with me. Things will clear by the second chapter. Oh, and the references to Sarah as a man are not typos. Just trust me! Oh, and please do not read if slash, or swearing, offends you.

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"Goblin King, Goblin King, take this… oh wait, those are the wrong words. I wish the goblins would take me away right now."

Nothing happened.

Sarah looked around the room and peeked into the mirror. Her green eyes stared back at her, the tear tracks continued to trace salt trails down her face and she scrubbed at them angrily. Jareth hadn't come for her.

"He came fast enough the last time," she muttered roughly, stalking to her bed and beginning to pull on the hated clothes, "Didn't even want him last time and he was there. Damned… BASTARD!"

"Actually, no," Jareth voice said snidely from behind her, "Adorably annoying, yes; illegitimate, no."

Sarah spun around with a gasp, her shirt forgotten as it dropped back to the bed from her fingers. But there was no longer in shame in standing half-naked before him. There was nothing much for him to see. And from the way his eyes widened at the sight of her, she knew with bitter certainty that he had a fair idea of why she had called for him.

"Sarah?"

"Actually, no," she mimicked, "I was once Sarah and no doubt I'll be Sarah again in three months. Right now you can call me Sam."

"Sam." Jareth circled her with a sad frown on his chiselled features. "I see you came of age."

Sarah crossed her arms on her chest and snorted. "I came of age three years ago, Goblin King. My dad… explained things to me, about my condition, I mean. He also told me some quite interesting things. About you. About me. About him."

"I see. I had forgotten that Peshawas came of age at twenty-two. Was it very painful?" His heart ached for her. It could not have been easy. The look onthat pretty face said it had not been so. But he could offer no sympathy that she would accept.

"It hurt," Sarah said simply, shutting down that train of thoughts. Jareth had abandoned her; he obviously wanted nothing to do with her, so expecting him to feel for her in anything but an objectively sympathetic way was ridiculous. Not that it made much difference to what she wanted.

The Goblin King picked the pink shirt off the bed and looked at it. A woman's shirt? "This is the wrong shirt, Sar- Sam."

She turned and snatched it from him, a faint blush on her face. "Don't! Just because I'm some freak doesn't mean…"

"Freak? You're no freak, my dear."

"I am! Just- just turn your back, okay? I don't like people seeing me like this. It's wrong. And you're not allowed to see me naked."

"You're wearing trousers," Jareth protested, "And, much though it pains me to point this out, your body is now hardly different to mine, is it?"

The shirt was thrown back in the fae's face and a distraught young man was sitting down on the floor, a hand pressed to his mouth as his green eyes filled with tears that he stubbornly refused to shed. Jareth cursed himself and sat down on the bed. He was uncertain of what to do and had the little notion that Sarah, or Sam, would scream bloody murder if he tried to comfort her… or him. What exactly was he to call her- him- her… oh, blast!

"Sam, I think you should get off the floor and dress." Frustration made him curt and short-tempered. It certainly explained why Sarah had been so short with him.

Sam shook his head, long dark hair flowing around his soft pale face in almost-curls.

"I'm a goddamned Peshawa," he mumbled through his hand, "I don't want to be this. Help me. Please, help me. I tried to be this- this thing, but I can't! You have to do something."

"Get up!" Jareth conjured up a basic white shirt and yanked the younger man off the floor. In her male form, Sarah was his height. Which was only to be expected, after all. "Put that on!" He helped with the buttons and finally, finally, Sam or Sarah was fully dressed. Men's jeans and a plain white silk shirt, barefoot and slumped: Jareth hated to see Sarah so miserable.

"Jareth, could you take me away with you?"

He stilled. He didn't want to see Sarah miserable, but taking her back to his Castle? Robert would be furious! "Why?"

"I told you," Sam groaned, "I'm a freak! How am I supposed to live like this?"

"Sarah- I mean, Sam- taking you back to the Goblin Kingdom is not something to be trifled with. You are not a freak; you're simply a magical creature. But you have been raised to be mortal and I am not sure…"

"I told Dad," Sarah snapped, "He doesn't want me to go."

Jareth let go of the wiry arm. "Then I am sorry. You can't come."

"Jareth!"

"Sarah?" He lifted his chin and raised an eyebrow, staring challengingly into the green eyes, daring her to say something.

But Sarah had never been that easily intimidated by him; apprehensive, yes, but not intimidated. She had inherited something from him, after all. "Look, Goblin King, you've done fuck-all in my life and never been there for even one thing that's really meant something to me. The first and last time I saw you, you were trying to get me killed by making me run that stupid Labyrinth of yours. I know you hate the sight of me, but you're my father, dammit, so get your shit act together and act like one!"

A smirk almost caught at his lips, but Jareth stilled it. Pasting his blankest expression over his face, he paced for a while, pursing his mouth in thought. "Call Robert," he said at last, "I cannot take you away from your birth-parent. For one thing, he'd eviscerate me."

Sarah duly made that call, refusing all her Dad's orders to stay away from the Goblin King. "You're the one who was stupid enough to get knocked-up, Dad. Don't blame me for wanting to know my other parent. I never asked for this… yes, of course, I bloody blame you! Who else will I blame? Or is Jareth a Peshawa too?"

Jareth shook his head in distaste at the query in his daughter's green eyes. Of course he wasn't a Peshawa! Did the girl mean to insult him? But then she didn't actually realize, he knew, just how the Peshawa were regarded by other magical creatures. Robert would not actually have told her much, as well, he guessed. After all, she was reared a mortal.

Peshawa… he continued to pace, thoughts on that far-away day when his iigawa had run away, taking their child with him. He'd been furious enough to rip the worlds apart trying to get her back. But the years had softened that fury until he'd come to understand why Robert had done what he'd done. Because the poor thing had never really been iigawa, had he; no, he'd been called a traitor and been disinherited for his refusal to accept the lot of his life. Had it not been for the Goblin King's offer to take him on, he would have died in the deserts of the High Lands.

So engrossed in memories was he, that said Goblin King didn't even notice that Sarah was watching him.

"He said to tell you to rot in hell and that if I don't return in three weeks, he will personally return to kill you himself," Sam interrupted.

His concentration broken, Jareth could only shrug and hold out his hand. "Are you sure? The last time I saw you, you refused to let me be a part of your life."

"Because the price was too high. My baby brother for my dreams? Far too high."

"Robert would have said the same," Jareth commented, "He chose the baby instead of his dreams as well. Come. Let's go."

A warm hand in his gloved one and he gestured to the window. "We're walking there." One step and they were in his throne room.

But such a difference! No drunken goblins and no wine-soiled flagstones. The floors were swept and washed and the tapestries were mended and hung in austere precision. The wind blew through the room to ruffle at their hair and belatedly Sarah realized that she had left her hair untied. She hated that, especially when she was in male form. Though usually, she simply dressed as she always did and added padding to give herself some sort of female form. She rarely ever acknowledged her masculine alter-shape.

"Sit," Jareth commanded, pointing to his throne. "I will call for something to eat. I suppose you must be fed."

The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I- I am a little hungry," he admitted, blushing as he touched his stomach. "It's, um, That Time."

Jareth never batted an eyelid. Peshawa were able to conceive as males and females. In essence, they were breeders. In common language, the rest of the known races called them sex slaves, useful for pleasure and breeding. They changed sexes every three months, unless they were one of the rare species that were fully-fledged hermaphrodites, and always experienced increased body heat and appetites during their ovulation.

"Troy," he shouted, throwing open the door.

A clean little goblin woman with bright eyes and pointed ears appeared and bowed before him.

"My daughter is here," Jareth said simply, "She intends to stay with us for three weeks. Prepare her suite on my floor and have a meal sent to us here immediately. Preferably something cold. Understood?"

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Troy said. In general, she was discreet and perfectly controlled. But even she couldn't help directing an honestly curious stare at the blushing young man sitting in the throne behind her monarch. The tale of Jareth's stolen daughter by his escaped iigawa was legendary. Rumours had abounded for years and now to actually meet the girl…

Jareth cleared his throat and glowered down at his servant. She squeaked in terror and sped away. The Goblin King shut the door and came back. Sarah was sitting slumped in his throne just where he'd left her, eyes firmly fixed to the floor in resigned sadness.

Ah yes. Just where had he seen this look before? Oh, that was right- Robert had looked like that for most of the few years he'd spent with him. Jareth felt the white-hot thrust of anger and pushed it away impatiently. Sarah was not Robert; he wouldn't bother to keep her if she asked to be let go. She wasn't his business; only his daughter.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Sarah is referred to as Sarah, but is also referred to as a 'he'. This is because I want to impress it on people that Sarah really is a man at this current point of time.

Author's Note2: There is a new word used here- anyone reading any of my other works know that I use made up words- and I am not going to explain it here. It will be explained in another chapter.

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"Did you sleep well, Sarah?"

"Sam."

"Sarah," Jareth said firmly, "Your name is Sarah and it shall remain Sarah."

"Whatever you like," the Peshawa sighed, sitting down. There was a tense lack of noise and Sarah looked up, catching Jareth's patient enquiry. "Oh," he said belatedly, "I slept well, thank you."

Jareth moved again and nodded, "Good. Do you have any particular plans for your stay here?"

It was a singularly cool question. Sarah swallowed and put his spoon down as his appetite dissipated. "Not really. I just wanted to get away from there." He continued to shift uncomfortably for a few minutes. "Look, I'm sorry if I inconvenienced you yesterday. I'm a little… confused, and I thought…"

"That I had answers?"

Green eyes slipped up. "Yeah. Something like that."

The Goblin King sighed and shook his head. "Sarah, you already have all the answers to any question that concerns you. What more do you need to know?"

"What happened? How is all of this possible?" Sarah leaned forward, green eyes wide as if to see the answers in his face, "I don't know any of this stuff. How is it possible for you… you know."

"No. I don't."

"Um, to be related to me in any way?"

Jareth smirked. "The biological process of fathering a child is quite unimaginatively simple," he chuckled, "I had sex."

Sarah flushed and sat back, now uncomfortable with the entire topic of conversation. He had been asking in a figurative manner. Now Jareth was just being nasty and crude, putting him off without really saying more than what he already knew. "Forget it," he muttered, getting to his feet, "I'm going for a walk."

"Sit down."

"I'm going for a walk," Sarah said louder. He turned to go, stalking to the door and reaching for the handle.

"I said- sit down!" The shout was enough to make the young man flinch. He turned around and levelled a defiant stare at his supposed father, defiance laced with uncertainty.

Jareth was still in his chair, his eyes down turned to the steaming cup he cradled in both hands, but from the set of his shoulders and the set on his jaw, this studied indifference masked an actual violence. The Goblin King was not about to be dictated to by his own daughter. And a peshawa at that! This was what came of stealing her away from her birth father. Robert had a lot to answer for.

"If you want answers," he advised slowly, "I will tell you anything you want. But you need to ask the right questions. Do we have a deal?"

Sarah shifted from foot to foot. "Okay." Hesitating for the barest hint of a second, he walked obligingly back to his seat at the table and sat down. "Is it true that I'm a Peshawa?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"You show all the signs of being a Peshawa. Not every magical race changes sex every three months," Jareth shrugged, "In fact, very few do. That narrows the possibilities. More importantly, you were borne of a Peshawa."

"But I thought Peshawa took the shape of other races that it mated with," Sarah pleaded, "See? I don't understand this. How can I be Peshawa if you're fae?"

Jareth took a deep breath and put the cup down. He leaned back and fixed a bored eye on his daughter. "Peshawa are a complex race, Sarah. Only the iiga clan are so submissive. At the other end of the scale is the opi clan, who are dominating. An iigawa- or a male of the iiga clan- was given to me. He bore my child. The child was you. By rights you should be fae. But you left the Underground and my presence in particular and the only parental influence left to you was Robert. Therefore you are a Peshawa."

"Did Dad know this?"

"I assume he did."

"Did you know this?"

"I did."

"And you let me be taken?" Suppressed fury in that normally soft voice.

"No." Jareth smiled a little. "I did everything I could to find you. But the world is a large place and the Peshawa are a race known for being chameleons. They can blend in anywhere, becoming just one of the dominant races wherever they are."

"Then how am I not mortal?"

"I said parental influence," Jareth snapped, "Can't you hear?"

"Sorry! I only asked."

The Goblin King shook his head and rose to his feet. He beckoned his daughter silently to follow him. He had something to show him, something that he thought he ought to be made aware of. So he took him up to the very top of the castle, where the wind whipped at their hair and their clothing. Jareth took Sarah's arm and pointed to the panorama spread out before them.

"This entire dimension," Jareth said in his ear, "Is mine. I rule it. When I leave this place, it was to go to you. Until Robert took you."

Sarah's jaw dropped. He was meant to be a Princess? Or Prince, depending on what month of the year it was. "You're joking, right?"

"No."

"Is- is this why you took Toby?"

Jareth let go of his arm and walked to the other side, looking out at another splendid view. "No," he called back, "You wished him away and I took him."

"Did you know who I was?" Sarah shouted after him. It felt as if the wind had begun to blow harder, as if to deliberately steal his words away.

"Of course. You have Robert's eyes. And I could feel the magic in you."

"I don't have magic!"

"Every Peshawa has magic," Jareth told her, "The ability to blend in, remember? The minute you drew yourself to my attention I knew everything about you."

Sarah had the feeling that he didn't like the implications of that statement. Jareth knew everything about her? She certainly didn't like that! "Why didn't you tell me?" Something else occurred to her. "You sang a love song to me! Eugh! What were you thinking?"

Jareth laughed and the wind tore the sound away so that it somehow sounded louder than it really was. "A song is a song, Lannon," he soothed her, "Did you expect me to stand there and leave you to the mercy of that rabble?"

"Is that why you danced with me?"

Jareth looked at his daughter and for the briefest of moments he pictured her as she looked as a female. She was happier in that form, and he could imagine how confusing it was for a human to change sex every three months. But such was the lot of a Peshawa. And he hadn't exactly danced with her just because he wanted to protect her. "Why else," he said flippantly.

Sarah's face didn't change. She didn't expect any finer feelings from him. How could she? The only time she had met him, he'd tricked her again and again. And he professed to have done that knowing who she was. No father would do that to someone they really cared about, would they?

Jareth had had enough. He held out his hand and took the young man back inside. He took him down to his room. Sarah was about the same size and the same height as the Goblin King, and Jareth had never negated the fact that he was not the paternal sort. "Those clothes are uacceptable," he said sharply, "If you are going to stay with me, you will dress appropriately. Now let me see."

He looked him over, dark hair with green eyes, pale complexioned and slim. Not unpromising. He studied him for a long moment and then nodded briskly.

"Here," he said, snapping his fingers and holding out his hand.

Sarah was surprised when the chest flew open and a shirt came floating out. He took it from Jareth's hands and looked it over. It was simple enough- white, large, open necked. But not in the style of Jareth's get-up. This was less revealing.

Jareth didn't wait for him to react but flicked his fingers again and a pair of breeches came to his hands. He plucked them out of the air and looked them over. Sarah's hips were narrow, but still slender enough. He shrugged and handed them over. "Try those. We can have new ones made."

"New? But I'm only here for two weeks," Sarah protested, "Really! I won't go out that much. I don't need any new clothes."

"I told you- you will dress appropriately," Jareth ordered, "Robert may have let you be mortal but you aren't in the mortal realm any more and you will behave as my daughter. Here." He shoved a pair of boots at him for good measure. "Go in there and change."

Sarah was left with no choice. He could tell that. Jareth gave the impression that he didn't even consider the possibility of his doing something different. And really, was there any reason for a shouting match on his first day back in the Underground? He had at least allowed him to return, and he supposed in his own way Jareth was trying to relate to him in some way. It wasn't either of their faults that neither of them really had anything in common. Sarah meekly went into the small room Jareth had pointed him to and shut the door.

It seemed to be a dressing room of sorts. It had a counter running down one side, and a steel-rod rack on the other. The mirror took an entire wall- from floor to ceiling, from side to side. The fourth side had the door. Various boxes and bottles stood haphazardly scattered around the room. From what Sarah remembered, the fae males used quite as much make-up as the females. That probably meant that Jareth would have to keep some of it around.

Not that Sarah was looking for make-up. He didn't wear it even in his female form! So Sarah dressed and carefully didn't look in the mirror until he was done. The breeches were a little too snug on the hips, but they were cut to be looser than Jareth's usual outfits and so they weren't too bad. The shirt was fine. Sarah wondered if the shirt wasn't more feminine than masculine. It looked somewhat androgynous in that way. The boots went on perfectly.

By the time Sarah left the dressing room, Jareth had vanished. He waited for a few minutes, unsure as to where the Goblin King had gone, but Jareth didn't return.

So Sarah took the opportunity to look around. It seemed a simple enough bedroom. Clearly with electricity because their were glass lamps to read by and the bed itself seemed to be a little crude until one realized that it had been carved from one single piece of wood. It said a lot about the trees in the Underground to think that one could grow that big.

Sarah left the room feeling uncomfortable but a little more settled. At least he was getting a sense of who his other father was.

It was a shock, yes, but then Sarah had been getting used to it since the night Robert had returned and sensed the Goblin King's recent presence in his house. There had been trouble. Robert had told 'her' back then. And Sarah had used the rest of the years from that night to the time he reached his majority to wrap his mind around the concept. Only now was he beginning to understand.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Sarah is still referred to as 'he' or 'him'. Please bear that in mind.

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There was no contact for a few days.

Sarah was shocked at first. Jareth hadn't given the impression that he would be so utterly callous to his situation. He was his father! Supposedly. He had expected nothing from him that he had admitted to himself, but all the same he had expected a little more than being ignored.

He ate alone, he read alone, he walked the halls of the Castle alone. The few times he ventured into the Labyrinth, he found it was nothing but a pretty little maze, constructed for a few hours of fun in the afternoon quiet.

No nasty surprises lurked around corners. No monsters popped out of the woodwork. Doors didn't appear where they had never been before and he was never asked to answer a riddle to get back 'home'.

It was just the Labyrinth.

And Jareth was nowhere to be seen.

The goblins were no help. They trailed in and out of the Castle as if it were their personal playground. Some, like Troy, cleared the mess away with a long-suffering sigh, but there was no structure that Sarah could see. No boundaries. The goblins did as the goblins liked. If they were content to be stupid, drunken creatures with low humour and no education, then that was what they were. On the other hand, Troy was a clever, diplomatic little goblin with a firm hand and a honeyed tongue. She was one of many.

Sarah didn't quite know where to look. It was not as if he wanted for anything. He was treated as the Prince Jareth had told him he was born to be. He was given the best of everything. Almost nothing was too good for Sarah.

"Yis Lannon," Troy called her, always with a deeply respectful bob of her mud-coloured head, "Forgive my intrusion… Yis Lannon, if I may suggest… Yis Lannon, would you like…"

Sarah didn't know what Yis Lannon meant. It meant nothing in the few phrases of Peshan she knew. Therefore it was Goblin for something. When she asked Troy, Troy delicately changed the subject. Evidently, speaking of intimate things to the Goblin King's Peshawa daughter was beyond the boundaries of what was permissible.

Sarah grew used to it. The changes were less noticeable in the Underground. For some reason the cycle hurt less. His heat flushes were no longer so distressing, nor was his constant need for food and sustenance. He didn't spend sleepless nights with his muscles twitching because of the inherent energy generated by his body for the purposes of mating. The Underground was oddly soothing.

Jareth still didn't appear.

The first week drew to a close.

Sarah thought long and hard about the reason he had involved himself with the Goblin King in the first place. He knew very little about anything to do with his parents. It was strange even to think of either his father or Jareth in terms of such a relationship, without confusing himself further by trying to fit them both together as well. They didn't mesh.

There was nothing about his father that seemed to relate in any way to the little he knew of Jareth. The Goblin King was proud, egotistical and quite intellectually snobbish. Robert was just average. How could an average man be anything at all to a Goblin King?

Sarah sat down in determination at the table and scribbled a note. He summoned a goblin and checked to make sure it was a thinking goblin. That ascertained, he gave the note to him and asked that it be delivered straight into His Majesty's hand and an answer be brought back.

"Yes, Yis Lannon," the goblin bowed. It tucked the note into its pocket, and loped away in a hurried manner.

Sarah pondered the form of address once more. It didn't sound like anything he knew.

Jareth sent back the reply that he was welcome to come to him at any time he so chose. Sarah opted to see him immediately.

The Goblin King was sitting in a high backed couch when Sarah entered his room, a writing case on his knee and his lazy fingers twirling the pen he had yet to use. A pair of silver-framed spectacles were perched elegantly on the bridge of his nose. He looked over them at her when she came in and put the case aside, rising as he removed them to greet her properly.

"Sarah, come in," he invited, "How do you feel?"

"Fine. Thank you."

"Go, Espit."

The goblin left. The door closed.

"Is your mind more settled?"

Sarah stared. What a very straightforward question! It begged the consideration of how much he was willing to confide in this virtual stranger. Genetics and birthright was all he shared with Jareth. They were not even of the same race. "A little," Sarah said cautiously.

"Only a little? I thought you would use the time in a more constructive manner," Jareth commented, "What is it? Is the Underground not to your liking? Is the air not conducive to thought?"

"No, no. It's been wonderful. There's just been so much to think about." Sarah looked around the room to gain more time. He was uncertain to his answers, to his intentions. He didn't know what he was to tell him. "Why are so many goblins stupid?"

"They choose to be what they are. Some are stupid. Some are not. Some retain enough intelligence to be of some use to the general community. Others specialize in certain areas to the detriment of others." Jareth shut away the writing case, locking it with a key that vanished from his hand to the ether. He took a gold case from his pocket and opened it. "Cigarette?"

"I don't smoke. Those things will kill you."

"They can," Jareth agreed, "We in the Underground are very susceptible to disease. No, this is a mild relaxant."

"Like a drug?" Sarah's green eyes went wide.

"Perhaps. I don't know what the differences would be from my world to yours," Jareth said negligently. He took one for himself and picked up a lighter close by. "However, the little I do know tells me that this is much the safer option, being much lighter in effect and much less addictive."

"But it is addictive."

"Anything is addictive," Jareth dismissed, "Music is addictive. Cleanliness is addictive. Sugar and sweets are addictive. It depends on the mind, Sarah. Are you sure you won't try one? It is a major export to the other dimensions. Very useful on stressful occasions."

Sarah looked shrewdly at him. "Is this stressful for you?"

Jareth's hooded eyes gave no answer. "Do you have any more questions?"

Sarah absently settled the belt upon his hips and marshalled his thoughts. There were a lot of questions he wanted to ask, most of which he could not form into any coherent question. But as long as Jareth was sitting there, smoking quietly before him with a cooperative look of enquiry on his face, he was prepared to stumble his way to asking any question no matter how small: "Do you get sick often?"

The Goblin King was clearly surprised at that. "No. We keep the Underground in a state of permanent decontamination."

"I don't understand. You just said you got sick easily and I know for a fact that half the Goblin City and this Castle is filthy!"

"Disease and dirt are two different things. Disease is not always to be found with dirt. We have what we call a healthy dirt. It helps keep our immune systems from going on permanent hiatus. That said, we suffer a lot of casualties in the Underground through ailments. What does this have to do with your thoughts?"

"Nothing. I just don't know anything about the Underground."

"Anything you want to know will have an answer. I may not be able to provide it, however."

"You?" Sarah looked suitably incredulous. "You mean you actually don't have an opinion on everything in the world?"

"Oh, I have an opinion on everything. That does not mean I am necessarily right." Jareth grinned a sharp grin at him and ground out the remains of his cigarette in the nearest ashtray. The smoke certainly had put him in a better mood; he seemed much more inclined to humour like this.

"Just right most of the time?"

"That depends," he chuckled. "On what you term as right. I can make a convincing argument."

"Really? Prove to me that black is white."

"No."

"A-ha! Then you lose!"

"No, I decline the challenge. Because it is not the real challenge and only a shadow to keep me busy while the time allotted in your mind to the real challenge escapes us, possibly never to return again." The Goblin King was all smug satisfaction and cool amusement, one leg crossed over the other and long back flush with the leather of his seat. "Give me my real challenge, Lannon."

"What does Lannon mean?" Sarah asked immediately.

Jareth stilled. The swiftest movement of annoyance crossed his face and then he forced his body to relax. "It is a term in Goblin."

"Okay, but what does it mean?"

"Lannon means Princess," Jareth told him bluntly, "Nothing suspect in that."

"But I'm male! How can you call me by a female title if I'm male?"

"This is certainly a far cry from the girl who could not accept her gender cycle. Now you cannot bear to be any gender but what your body dictates."

"What does Yis mean?" Sarah demanded.

Jareth began to smirk. "Lost. It means Lost. They call you the Lost Princess."

"Oh. I wondered. Because Dad took me away, I guess."

"Yes. Do you mind?"

"No, I guess not. If it had been something to do with slavery or something I would have. But this is okay."

Jareth nodded in what seemed like acknowledgement.

"Tell me something, what you said at the end of my trip through the Labyrinth- what did it mean? Fear me; love me; do what I say and I will be your slave," Sarah quote. He looked down at his hands first before looking up in open confusion. "I didn't understand."

"Let it go. It's in the past."

"Dad always said that the past changed the future."

"I believe in destiny," Jareth negated, "My past changes my future only insofar as the decisions I make. The immeasurable courses of my life are already plotted and mapped. It is only my decision that is required. The perfect balance of fate and responsibility."

"So you go through life telling yourself that the bad stuff is fated and that the good stuff you made happen?"

"No. I go through life saying that everything is fated but that I determine my fate by the decision I make. Think of it as a crossroads. An impending decision is a fork in the road. You choose one path from the many. You will still contend with the consequences of the direction you have taken, but you were not the one to plot the trail yourself and therefore fate has had a hand in surrounding you with certain options. Do you see?"

"No."

Jareth shook his head and gestured helplessly. "It is a belief," he dismissed, "An Underground belief. You will have to be guided into understanding. But there is no time for that."

"Why not?"

"You have only a little time left here. This takes years."

"Well, I can practise on earth, can't I? You just tell me what I have to do and I'll do it. I want to know all about the Underground. I want to meet Hoggle and Ludo and Sir Didymus. I want to know why the Labyrinth doesn't frighten me any more. I want…"

"I will arrange to have those three summoned to the Castle tomorrow. The Labyrinth does not challenge you anymore because you have already beaten it. There is no going back to the same point and therefore it is no longer a hurdle to you."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense. Is this like the crossroads and consequence thing again? I beat the Labyrinth and so the consequence is that I don't have to do it again?"

"You could see it like that, certainly."

"I think I sort of get the picture. What about the rest of it? Could someone teach me about that."

Jareth stiffened and hardened his resolve. "You will not have the time." There was no point creating extra work for himself if he knew it would go to waste. Sarah might be disappointed but there was nothing worse than a half-begun course of education. It frustrated him if the journey was never completed satisfactorily.

"Why not?" Sarah was puzzled. Jareth kept saying that. "Dad won't mind, you know."

"Robert has no part in it. You simply will not complete the course by the time you return Aboveground, even if you began right this minute," Jareth warned.

"Yeah, but… like I said, I'll keep going. I can come back, can't I?"

Jareth only looked at him.

"I can't come back here."

The Goblin King sighed and changed the subject.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Once again, Sarah is referred to as 'he' or 'him'. Sarah is a man for now, and will only change back in three months.

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"I don't understand why you made me run the Labyrinth at all," Sarah protested, "I could have been killed!"

"You asked that Toby be taken. Once I grant a wish, it can't be undone," Jareth explained.

"Yeah, but I never meant you to take him in the first place. It was only because he was crying and I was mad at Karen. Which reminds me, how come Dad can marry again if he's married to you?"

Jareth raised an eyebrow. This conversation was certainly going to be intense if he was to be asked personal questions all evening. "Earth is a different world altogether."

"So he can marry a different person on a different dimension?"

"No."

"So his marriage to Karen is illegal."

"No."

Sarah shook his head and wondered if Jareth was always so difficult. "Are you going to do this often?" he asked bluntly, "I came here for answers and you're the only one who seems to give me any. But if you sit there and play the enigma, then this isn't worth it."

"You could go back Aboveground."

"I don't want to go Aboveground," he insisted mulishly, "I came to you for help."

Jareth stood up and proffered his hand. He looked at his daughter, waiting patiently until the young man hesitantly got to his feet and nodded his dark head. Then he buttoned up his coat and gestured to the door. "We're going outside," he commanded.

"Why?" Sarah demanded.

"Because you want your answers."

The Goblin King took him right outside the Castle, not saying a word until they crossed the threshold of the enormous doors and then only broke the silence to tell Sarah that they were going to a certain part of the Labyrinth. Sarah wasn't petitioned for his opinion on the matter and so he shrugged and went along with the plan. After all, what harm could it do?

"Fear me; love me; do as I say and I will be your slave," Jareth echoed, "You asked that the baby be taken; I took him. You cowered before me; I was frightening. Everything single thing I ever did to you, I did because you asked it of me."

"I… that can't be right."

"The truth cannot tolerate a lie, Sarah. Neither can I."

"I don't understand it! How can I lie about things if I don't understand them?"

"Because I am telling you the truth and you can't let yourself believe it."

"How do I know it's the truth?"

"Because it is the only plausible explanation."

Sarah stopped right there. He was confused and just a little scared. Jareth was walking into the Labyrinth with the air of someone repressing a fury and the last time Sarah had gone through the Labyrinth on his demand, it had been a journey fraught with danger and distress. He wouldn't do it again unless Jareth stopped talking in riddles.

"What is it?" the Goblin King snapped, turning around, "Are you scared?"

"If you could just tell me what…"

"So you fear me, at least," Jareth mocked, "And what about love? No? But you did, though you couldn't understand it. The dance was in your head, Sarah, and you drew me into it. It was so strange, this affinity to the Goblin King, wasn't it?" He dropped his voice, stepping closer to be heard. "How could you? The man who stole Toby! Was it possible to feel some kind of connection with him?"

"I hated you," Sarah snapped, his own temper firing. This at least he seemed to share with Jareth- easily invoked anger. "You were the one who gave me the peach and you sang some stupid love song to me. So don't make me feel as if I'm the one who got it wrong. You tricked me deliberately."

"I didn't trick you at all," Jareth told her. The mockery was gone, replaced with implacable seriousness and ominous quiet. "Do you know what could have happened to you in that place? You are a Peshawa. You were born to be someone else's tool. Those demons you dreamt of need only have reached out their hands and touched you like so."

He wrapped the fingers of one hand around the back of Sarah's neck and drew him closer.

"You would have done anything for them if they had stirred an instinct within you that was beyond your ability to fight," he whispered, "So I did what any father would do and I protected you."

"You didn't need to sing," Sarah muttered, blushing because Jareth was too close and speaking of very embarrassing things. "You made me think things."

"I know. But if they had known, you would still have been in danger," the Goblin King sighed, "Unless I told them who you were and that would have meant telling you who you were. Robert spent too long keeping you away from me for that to happen."

Sarah blinked his green eyes. "Let me get this right- you didn't tell me who I was because of Dad?"

"Partly."

"How in the hell could you think that? That doesn't even make any fucking sense," Sarah shouted, "I've been miserable and confused for years because you didn't want to upset Dad?"

"No. You have been miserable and confused because you couldn't accept who you were. I didn't want the trouble of having to meet Robert and delve back into the problems we had. My iigawa is not that precious to me."

"And while we're on the subject, what the hell is an iigawa? Dad said it once but looked like he wished he could die of shame."

"Iigawa means male slave. Iigon means female slave. You are an iigon. He is an iigawa. Both of you are Peshawa and I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that you are as unbalanced as he is." Jareth paused for a moment to take a deep breath. "Will you follow me or should we keep shouting here in where we can be overheard?"

Sarah scuffed the toe of his boot moodily against the dirt. "Go ahead," he said, "I'll follow."

"Good."

They had walked for no more than ten seconds before Sarah got another thought into his head. "Who were those people I dreamed about?"

"Others of my kind," Jareth replied shortly.

"What is your kind?"

"You call us fairies. Sometimes you call us elves. We call ourselves nothing."

"So… what are you?"

"A magical version of a human that never has to die. That being said, it should be obvious that almost anything can kill me."

"Because you get sick very fast?"

"Among other things."

"What about me? Can I die of a fever?"

"No. Peshawa are a hardy race. They have to be, living in that squalor."

"What do you mean- squalor?"

This time Jareth stopped. "A desert dimension, Sarah. Clans cluster around oases, and their purpose in life is to survive. Which is why you are extraordinary mates. What else is going to keep the lot of you alive when the entire land is constructed as a death trap! Did Robert tell you nothing?"

Sarah shrugged. "He seemed ashamed of it so I didn't ask to know."

Some of the exasperation calmed down. "I see he hasn't changed," the Goblin King commented.

"Was he always ashamed?" Sarah questioned.

Jareth wondered how much Robert had told the girl. Just enough? Or all? It wasn't his business, however, and he had washed his hands of the both of them from the moment he began to accept that neither his iigawa or his daughter were going to be returned to him. "Robert was sentenced to banishment. He would have had to leave the clan and his home, risk his chances in a hostile desert, and hope somehow to make it alive to the dwelling of another civilization. I felt sorry for him so I persuaded them to give him to me."

Sarah was intrigued. When Robert said he had been 'given' to the Goblin King, he had left out the bit about being in disgrace. "Why did they banish him?"

"He refused to be anyone's slave."

"Could he do that?"

"A few have. But never out loud to the elders when they summon you to tell you who your mate is. Robert was the son of the clan's leader, betrothed to a Vraul girl."

"Vraul?"

"Another dimension entirely. But very important to the Peshawa because they, by definition, are slave traders. They began by capturing the Peshawa and selling them as exotic cattle. Eventually, clans simply legalized the trade and selected those who were to be taken. The entire thing is very lucrative."

"It sounds sick."

"Why?"

"How can you sell someone into slavery? What if the Peshawa doesn't like their master?"

"That was Robert's concern. He spent fifteen minutes screaming at the elders and they sentenced him unanimously when he was done."

"How did you meet him?"

"I was paying a diplomatic visit to the dimension. I was early, but the opi clan was rather frightening so I left for the iiga clan as soon as I could."

Sarah chuckled evilly, trying to imagine the Goblin King politely observing the customs and rituals of a dominant people. The distaste on Jareth's face was funny enough, but the visuals in his head were hilarious.

"Robert was very lovely."

The laughter abruptly halted and Sarah felt vaguely ill. Jareth looked pensive, thoughtful, even a little wistful. He sighed a little and shook his blond head, beckoning his companion on with a flick of his fingers.

Sarah followed obligingly, but couldn't quite understand it. He took it for granted that there must have been some kind of attraction for the two of them to have a child together- though he supposed that it could have been a case of Jareth in the mood and the both of them resigned to each other- but Robert had never appeared particularly handsome. Good looking in his own way and good natured, certainly, but not anything to produce that kind of description in that kind of way.

"What do I call you?" Sarah asked timidly.

Jareth raised an eyebrow as he cast a curious glance to his side, but the man had his eyes fixed on the ground they walked on. "Whatever you like," the Goblin King said lightly, "But Jareth should do for now."

"Jareth, huh? I'm supposed to call my father by his first name?"

"Actually, I am your sire. Peshawa conceive in any gender, so they use the terms sire and dam."

"That's like horses," Sarah protested.

"I did say they were treated as exotic cattle. The closest interpretation of their language places the words as sire and dam, which was fitting when you consider that they were sex slaves and nothing more. Lower even than normal slaves because they were intended for the baser instincts. Most other slaves had an established hierarchy already. The Peshawa didn't. They seemed primitive. They came from a non-progressive land. They were unknown and their language was not understood. They were, in short, cattle."

"That really is sick."

Jareth didn't respond. He took an abrupt turn back and went around a statue.

Sarah followed and found himself in a courtyard he didn't recognize. He looked around with his mouth open, drinking in the delicate room they were in. "Where are we?"

"Robert's rooms," Jareth said negligently, "They used to be at the Castle but I had them moved when he left."

"Why did you move them?"

Some of the softness vanished, to be replaced with a very hard look of anger. But Jareth didn't choose to answer the question. Instead, he gestured to the door and took them back out again.

Sarah found himself walking back around the statue with no notion of how he could be outside one minute and in a room in the Castle the next. Or a room in the Castle that wasn't, in fact, in the Castle at all. It was all very confusing and he supposed it was another thing that wasn't as it seemed in the Underground.

"You have to understand," the Goblin King said unexpectedly, "The peshawa are a race of slaves- by their reasoning, not anyone else's. They buy and sell each other just as much as we buy and sell them. They adapt to anything; they mate with anything; they can produce offspring for any race in the universe. What is more, their instinct is to do so. They like doing so. Their lives are based around mating and the only way to reconcile that with themselves is to find pleasure in it."

Sarah's eyes went very big as he retreated from the slow drawl.

"The peshawa are irresistible to the other races. They transform to whatever their prospective mate finds attractive and they are as intoxicating as a drug. They are called prostitutes and they are called slaves. It is more clear to call them survivors. They have a gift; they use it to make their way in the worlds. That is who you are. I can't give you any other answer but this one."

"Then I am just a slave."

"No. You accept someone else's dominance over you. That does not make you a slave."

"B- but I can't say no to them if I don't want to."

Jareth sighed and placed a sympathetic hand on the young man's shoulder. "That is what Robert is for," he stressed, "To keep you safe until he finds someone worthwhile for you."

"B- but he's a peshawa too!" Sarah wasn't going to cry. He really wasn't. There was no point in crying and anyway, boys didn't cry!

"Because he accepts someone else's dominion over him does not make him incapable. I promise you he is more pro-active than that." Jareth remembered that very well. "Why does it matter that you have answers to questions that don't relate to your life? You will never return to your clan. You will never need to know how to manipulate your powers. It shouldn't matter what anyone in any dimension but earth says about you because you will never have to interact with them."

"I just want to know."

"Be human," Jareth advised, "You live on earth and it's easier. When you turn fifty, you will be gain control of your sex and you can be any gender you want, at any time you want."

"Yeah, but I'll end up going to some freaky club and wearing a collar," Sarah sniffed.

Jareth laughed and shook his head. "Come along," he chuckled, "You have another two weeks in the Underground. You might as well enjoy them while you can. Forget about this Peshawa nonsense. It does not matter under my roof."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Stupid me! I put this story under 'Greek' instead of English. I know a lot of people are scratching their heads and saying, "It's all Greek to me" but that was just ridiculous! It should show up on the main page now.

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"Who knew beauty still existed in the Underground?"

Sarah started and turned around, blinking the daze from his eyes so he could better see the man standing behind him. "Sorry?" he asked.

The man standing there was smiling at him with a singularly charming grin. Very confident, very self-assured. The plain brown clothing only emphasized the paleness of his face. "Beauty," he elaborated, "The Goblin Kingdom has such a shortage of it. Yet here you stand, and you are truly beautiful."

Sarah blanched and didn't know where to look. "Um, I'm not sure about beauty," he said hesitantly, "Who are you?"

"Vernon," the man said promptly, "Your name, fair one?"

Sarah thought frantically, not sure whether he was to reveal himself and whether Jareth would want people to know his peshawa daughter was back in the Underground. "Um…"

"Never mind," Vernon said quickly, waving it away with a careless hand. He moved closer, hungrily looking the young man up and down. "A name is not required. Glorious Nature itself shines in your eyes."

"Look, I have no idea what you're talking about so I'd really like it if you…"

"Anything, fair one, anything! Your wish is my command. If I may ask for a favour?"

Sarah was now thoroughly embarrassed. Vernon's entire demeanour was fawning. He stood too close and he tipped his head forward as if to kiss the air that Sarah breathed. Sarah took a careful step backwards and tried to compose himself. "If- if there's something I can do?" he said carefully.

"A smile, Beauty," Vernon grinned, "Would be more than I could ever dream of."

Sarah didn't think she remembered how to smile. Blush, yes, frown, certainly; but smile? Not so easy. And yet… and yet the man was a complete idiot! He was effervescent and exuberant, talking quickly in a low undertone with an overly dramatic drawl to his voice. His deep amber eyes snapped with excitement and humour, such a contrast to his skin and hair that Sarah didn't quite know what to think of his exotic colouring.

"You smile! Beauty, I leave you to your gentle solitude," Vernon sighed, bowing low as he moved away. He straightened up with a wink and a wider grin that before, disappearing back around the bushes he had come from.

Sarah shook his head in bemusement and sat down again. He picked up the three stones and began to jingle them in his hand, thinking on the strange occurrence just finished.

"One more thing, Beauty." He was back.

Sarah looked up and sighed. "Could you stop calling me that?"

"I call a star a star, Beauty. What else will I call you?"

Sarah glared at him but decided not to pursue this tack. "Never mind. What do you want?"

"Do you know the Castle of the Goblin King?"

Sarah hid panic. "Yeah?"

"I am a guest of King Jareth's. I wondered if you would join us this evening?" Vernon held out his hand, "It will be very private and simple. Just company for two men that appreciate exquisite nature."

"Then go look at the garden," Sarah snapped, unnerved and annoyed, "I'm not a painting to be gawked at."

"Of course not!" Vernon was indignant. "To compare a mere painting to you would be to compare pure gold to a lump of coal! I take great exception to being thought of as a cheap flatterer."

"And I take greater exception to being teased. Get lost, creep."

"I have angered you."

"Just a little. Go away now and I might change my mind."

The man looked so utterly dejected that Sarah almost rolled his eyes in frustration. "Your wish is my command, Beauty. Farewell. I hope we meet again somewhere." He left.

Sarah stayed where he was and alternated between fuming and smiling. He couldn't help it! It was too hilariously annoying. And the man was bound for the Castle too. They would meet there unless Jareth threw him out and then what was Sarah to say to him?

By the time Sarah returned, he had persuaded himself that Jareth would ask her to remain discreet. He should not have worried.

"Vernon, my daughter, Sarah," Jareth introduced, "And keep your lecherous hands off him."

Vernon's amber eyes sparked again. But he waited for Jareth to move away for a minute before addressing his young companion very softly- "Well, Beauty," he laughed, "And so we have indeed met again."


	6. Chapter 6

"Your father is keeping a very sharp eye on me," Vernon murmured softly, "I feel quite scared."

Sarah looked at Jareth and found him staring into the depths of his glass, lost in his own thoughts. He didn't look at if he was paying much attention to anything, let alone either of them. "Well," he said inanely, "He won't kill you."

Vernon chuckled and placed a hand on Sarah's arm.

"Take that hand off my daughter before I cut it off," came the quiet command.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Sarah blushed a little but was thankful for the protection. He was still uncomfortable with Vernon's constant compliments and extravagant conversation, and it felt good knowing there was someone watching out for him. Even if it was the Goblin King. Or, he corrected himself, Jareth. Better to start thinking of him as someone less removed than the Goblin King.

"Sarah, I hate to do this to you, but I really must ask you to leave," Jareth continued, putting his glass down, "My… guest, has a few questions to answer."

Vernon rose swiftly and handed Sarah out of his chair, leaning reverently over his fingers before the man snatched his hand away. "Good night, Beauty," he breathed, "I shall count the hours until I see you on the morrow."

Jareth snorted.

Sarah practically flew out of the room, thankful to get away. Whoever Vernon was- and Jareth hadn't introduced him in any way other than his name- he was bewildering. Sarah had never met someone so… blatantly fawning! What could he possibly achieve by constantly crooning over his hair or his eyes or his features?

Jareth waited until the door shut and then spun around on his heel and decked the other male. "Get out," he snarled.

"Jareth, I…"

"I warned you the last time," the Goblin King swung again and caught him on the chin hard enough to send Vernon into the back of the couch, "And now you dare to do the same to my daughter? You are a seriously stupid man."

"Jareth, friend, I was only…"

"You will return to your rooms," Jareth broke in, "And you will pack your things. Then you will order your horses saddled, after which you will leave. And if I see you ever again, you will regret it."

"Jareth, let me explain!"

"Stop bleeding on my furniture and get out."

Vernon sighed as he licked the blood from his lip. "You hit too hard," he accused feelingly, "And I am not leaving."

"Good. Then I can have you thrown into the Bog." Jareth rolled up his sleeves with a purposeful glint in his mismatched eyes.

"I am not going to treat your daughter inappropriately, you insane bastard! Will you just listen to me? All I want is shelter for the night and I plan to leave in the morning in any case. At a decent time, of course."

"After you get one last shot at Sarah," Jareth interpreted.

Vernon sighed and wiped the blood away with his sleeve, searching feverishly through his pockets for a handkerchief. "The next time I will fight back," he promised darkly.

"Ha!"

"Ha, nothing, you senile old owl. The boy is the most beautiful creature I've seen in an age and- wait, don't hit me; let me finish- and all I did was tell him so. What is so wrong in that? Every young one likes to be admired. I'm sure you did somewhere in your murky, faraway past." If the man was bitter, he had every reason to be. His face would be bruised and swollen by the morning.

"Not by a snake such yourself. I told you to leave. Why are you still here?"

"Alright, alright. I apologize." Vernon waved the blood-specked handkerchief in a vague show of surrender. "I didn't realize that I was being offensive. May I now explain what I am here to tell you?"

"No."

"You are being very silly about all this."

Jareth crossed his arms against his chest and tightened his lips against the words on his tongue that longed to lash out. Sarah might not be his business any more, but he was damned if the man was to be assaulted in such a way under his roof. That much at least he could give him.

"Jareth, I am only here to give you a message from the Allorn Queen."

The Goblin King, if anything, looked even more enraged.

"She only asks that you listen to her proposal," Vernon informed him, "She acknowledges your stance on this issue but she feels that you have not given suitable thought to the advantages that she can offer."

Jareth'srage turned forbidding.

Vernon was a messenger for very important people. It was his job to carry information, news and other items of communication between rulers and heads of state. A part of his job was also to play the diplomat for whichever leader had currently employed him. The part of his message that the Allorn Queen had insisted on him echoing to the Goblin King had been intended as a joke. Considering the mood that Jareth was in, Vernon feared it wasn't the right time unless he was actively looking to get thrown into the Bog of Eternal Stench. But a job was a job.

"She says that, for one thing, she won't run away to the Aboveground with your child."

Jareth hit him again.

"I'm only bearing a message!"

"You have ten seconds to persuade me not to kill you." A large clock began to tick very loudly from the corner as Jareth flexed his fingers.

"Jareth, friend, you know that was not me. It's not my sense of humour," Vernon said quickly, "The Allorn Queen insisted. I only relay messages. It's my job. Have a heart."

The clock stopped abruptly and the man covered his head with a muffled gasp, waiting to feel something happen. But nothing happened. The most that happened was that Jareth sat down and continued to stare searchingly at him.

Vernon uncovered his head very slowly and straightened up. "You won't kill me, will you?"

"I am still considering it."

"Jareth, friend…"

"Shut up, Vernon."

Vernon obligingly shut up.

"Sarah is completely off limits, Vernon. You understand that, don't you? If I let you stay here for one night- and one night only- you will keep your hands and eyes and even your voice if you can manage it, from stroking his bare skin. Tomorrow morning, you will go back to that royal bitch and tell her to keep her dress on as far as I am concerned. I am already married, and I do not intend to marry anyone else."

"Jareth…"

"You can use any diplomatic terms you like, Vernon. Tell her that my heart still belongs with my iigawa or some such rubbish. But if I hear anything more about this business of merging kingdoms in a marriage bed, I will hunt you down and boil you in oil." Jareth raised his brows in enquiry. "Are we clear?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Vernon…"

"Yes?"

Jareth sighed. There was no point getting angry with the man. He was a snake, but he was likeable. Vernon was an awful flirt . He was a good messenger, but he couldn't really help flirting with anyone . He had a weakness for pretty people. In a way, it was a compliment to Sarah that Vernon had lost his head so totally. "I may have a job for you next month. Will your business be concluded by then?"

Vernon sighed in relief. "It will."

"The usual price, Vernon?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. Will Her Highness be here?"

"Sarah will have returned to his birthfather Aboveground," Jareth warned, "And no one is to know that, Vernon, so I will ask you to keep that information to yourself."

"Of course." Vernon could keep a secret. He was good at keeping secrets. But it was a matter of some interest that Jareth had discovered the whereabouts of his missing slave and still hadn't dragged him back to the Underground. The Goblin King had obsessed to the point of distraction over his missing family. And now? Now Jareth was too objective about the matter.

"Good night, Vernon," Jareth called, rising to his feet and leaving the room, "I expect to see you leave tomorrow morning."


	7. Chapter 7

Truina: (my) possession

Kin-ord truina: kin-born (my) possession. It sounds ungrammatical and confusing, but it means that Robert is born a slave in a clan of slaves and that he belongs to Jareth.

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"What do you want?"

Jareth raised an eyebrow and looked around the room he stood in. A far cry from either the iiga dwellings or his Castle, but it was homely enough. A very strong woman's touch, though, and why did that surprise him so much?

The man glaring at him, however, looked nothing like a particularly strong woman. He was big, broad, and quite unremarkably masculine.

Jareth marvelled at the masquerade. "Hello, Robert. Excuse my dropping in unexpectedly but I brought Sarah home."

"Dad!" The young man looked happy. Green eyes shining and dark hair stuck up in spikes, Sarah flung her arms around his father's neck and gave him a fierce hug. "Dad, the Underground was great. The Labryinth doesn't bother me any more! Jareth says that's because I already got through it once so it's not a big deal now. Oh, and I met Hoggle again! He was so surprised to see me. He almost choked when he found out I was Jareth's daughter. It was so funny. And then I met someone called Vernon. Do you know him, Dad? I don't know if he was…"

"You let her meet Vernon?" Robert cut in sharply.

Jareth stifled a sigh. "He had business with me and he arrived at the Castle. He left the next morning."

"Sarah, honey, did he try anything with you?"

"Who- Vernon?" Sarah snorted, "No fears! Jareth frightened him off."

Robert's green eyes slipped from his daughter's face to his former lover's. Jareth was standing very politely away from the melee, hands behind his back and the most innocent look of gravity on his face. A strange black-clad figure in a room full of brick-a-brack and pretty patterns. The man wondered what the Goblin King thought of the room.

"Dad, are you okay?"

"Fine, honey. Um, Karen and Toby are out right now. But they should be back soon."

Sarah nodded and let go of him. "I'll go back to my place in a few minutes." He wouldn't ask how things were going in the disintegrating marriage. It wouldn't be right, considering Jareth was standing right there with them. They could discuss it later if Robert wanted. "I'm going to go up and pick up some stuff I left here last time."

"Go ahead. I'll drive you home when you're done."

"Jareth?"

The Goblin King started slightly as if he hadn't been paying attention at all to anything around him. But from the way his mouth curved into a smile, Sarah didn't believe it for a minute.

"Thanks for talking to me," he said softly, reaching up and planting a soft kiss on his cheek, "I feel a lot better."

"You're welcome, Lannon," Jareth replied, ruffling his hair playfully. "I might see you again sometime soon, hmmm?"

He grinned at the both of them and felt grateful for being allowed to leave the room. Robert looked as though he was trying to swallow something particularly unpleasant. Jareth just looked completely relaxed, which Sarah took be a sign that he was as tensed as Robert. He didn't wait to hear the explosion.

"Would you like to sit?" Robert asked woodenly.

Jareth just looked around the room once more and his expression was clear. "Thank you, no. How are you?"

"Fine." Robert fidgeted with his tie. According to custom, Jareth was still his mate, and for an iigawa, that meant treating him with the respect he deserved. But the man refused to be that same person that he had once been. It would be hypocritical of him to even try.

He settled on the one thing that they still had in common- "She looks happier."

Jareth drifted around the room with a bored air. "She has her answers. You should have just told her everything, Truina."

That was going too far! "Don't call me that!"

"Why not? That is what you are: kin-ord truina." Jareth tugged nonchalantly on a flower in the vase and dislodged a few petals.

"No, I'm a human. I have a name. And I have a life that no longer has you or that blasted Peshawa nonsense in it."

"This was the same yearning for independence that almost had you banished to the deserts, Robert."

"Jareth, that is water under the bridge. I don't want to talk about it."

"Fair enough. I should be going. As it is there is so much work for me to do. I have so much that requires my attention."

"Yeah, I remember. You usually drink a glass of water around this time," Robert scoffed.

"While I try to sort out the various problems that people petition me to assist them with. You know how these things go. I solve a few problems, save a few lives…"

"Yeah, yeah. You saved me. But you got your own advantages out of it, you know, so don't expect me to fall to my knees and grovel."

"You once did." Jareth looked up and there was no mistaking the memory he was referring to.

Robert flushed and looked away as a matter of course. Of course he had fallen to his knees! He'd been faint with fear and relief, hope and despair. Condemned to walk away from this drop of civilization in the burning heat of a desert dimension when a visiting dignitary had proposed another kind of punishment. He'd sat and waited where he was, not allowed back into the dwelling perimeters of the iiga while his position was so uncertain. Never mind the heat and the thirst. His tongue had dried and swelled and sand had coated his limbs and the air before Jareth and his mother reappeared.

"You never did so again," Jareth reminisced, "It didn't matter. I never expected you to."

"No. Prostrating myself before you meant I was too low to suck you off," Robert snarled, "You knew perfectly well that I never wanted to become what you made me. That's the reason I was banished in the first place. I never asked you to interfere."

"And yet I thought you rather enjoyed sucking me off," Jareth intoned, "How stupid of me. It must have been those horribly fake orgasms."

Robert blushed again and this time didn't reply. Why should he? So many of those orgasms had been faked. Not an easy thing to do when one is male and lack of excitement is reasonably clear. Hence the reason he had preferred dark rooms and taking care of himself. Jareth had only laughed back then, seeming to find it amusing that his iigawa was so shy he couldn't even relax to the feel of his mate's hand between his legs.

"Did you think I didn't know?" Jareth asked gently. And this time he turned the full weight of his concentration at his run-away slave. His rump resting comfortably on the back of an armchair and his long legs stretched out for balance. "You are a terrible actor."

"You believed I was happy."

"That had nothing to do with your skills. I made myself believe. After all, sex is not the entirety of existence. We shared other things. In the end we had Sarah. I thought it would be enough to keep you there."

Robert began to smile. It wasn't a very happy smile, nor was it very pleasant. It was a dark smile, full of morbid amusement and gleeful gloating. "How it must have shocked you," he relished, "To find I had gone. How long did it take you to notice?"

Jareth had gone cold again, still in the same position but with no hint on his face as to his thoughts. He said nothing to this onslaught but let it continue, still just watching the other man take his pleasures in the conversation where he could get them.

"I'll bet you noticed right away. No wailing baby; no wailing iigawa. How could you miss it? And then you blew a fuse and ordered the whole Underground turned upside down to get us back. The world must have come crashing down for you that day."

"It did."

"After all your smug self-satisfaction, you realized you'd been so absolutely betrayed. Poor Jareth! Poor darling, how you must have suffered." Robert spat the words as if he couldn't stand to even think them let alone have them in his mouth.

"Oh, I didn't suffer at all. Your clan offered me another to replace you," Jareth informed him.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said."

"They offered… who? Not Nila! She was too young, too… they gave you Nila."

"They offered me Nila, yes."

"But she…" Robert's eyes were enormous, trying not to panic since there was no reason to panic over what had happened years ago. "Nila."

"She was much more compliant, I will grant you that. Did you know that she is expecting her third child?"

"Her third? What are you, a monster?" Robert had dropped his concentration, dropped his sense of reason. He was shrieking at the Goblin King like a banshee, horrified at the fate of his little sister.

Jareth didn't seem to notice. If anything, this was more comfortable than the usual stillness. Robert had always lost his temper at some point. The Castle had frequently witnessed a screaming match that sometimes led to hurling pieces of furniture. He didn't think Robert would do that in his wife's house but the screaming certainly felt familiar. "She seems strangely happy about having children," he ended, straightening up and dusting himself off with a careless hand.

"No." Robert knew that look very well and he was already moving, grabbing Jareth by the shoulders to anchor him. "You are not throwing this at me and leaving. You will stay here, dammit, and answer me!"

Jareth smirked slowly and vanished out of his hands.

Robert cursed volubly in several languages for several long minutes and stopped only when he realized that Sarah was staring at him wonderingly from the doorway, not sure what to do to stop him throwing such a fit. And then he just went to his room and tried to shut out the thoughts by pulling the blankets tight over his head.


	8. Chapter 8

Sarah went home alone that night. His dad was too messed up and when he checked on him next he was asleep. So he left Robert there and stuffed everything into a ratty old bag he kept for just such occasions. Karen would be home soon. Sarah always managed to steer clear of his stepmother and stepbrother when he was in male form. Even if he decided to dress as a woman, Karen knew him well enough to see through it and ask questions.

Awkward questions, too!

How was one supposed to explain to a clueless mortal what an iigon was? Or just a Peshawa. Or even the whole business that Sarah was Robert's daughter in every way that counted. Worse, how could Sarah explain it to Toby? Toby would either be traumatized for life, or he would think it was exciting and tell all his friends. And that would mean explaining things to the community at large. Which would create a headache too large for Sarah to handle.

Better to jog back to his apartment quietly before Karen and Toby came home than to let that happen.

So Sarah jogged, ratty canvas bag slung over his shoulders and a lighter feeling in his feet than before. Getting answers really did make all the difference, he mused, and it had been interesting to meet Jareth in a non-aggressive situation. The Goblin King was as arrogant, as annoying and as aloof as Sarah remembered thinking him to be, but he hadn't been a bad person. Just too used to getting things his own way. And perhaps a little bitter? Not that Sarah blamed him! Imagine everyone finding out that your iigawa was so unhappy he actually ran away, taking your daughter and heir with him!

Unlocking his door and sauntering into the slightly musty apartment, Sarah tossed the bag in a corner and went straight to the fridge. The cycles really were taxing on the weekly grocery bills.

All in all, Sarah was remarkably glad when she woke up one morning after three months, sweating and itching because the change had been affected again, and found she was back to herself.

"Alleluia," she huffed, "Finally!"

Peshawa had routines similar to everyone else. Especially those who chose to live as mortals. Sarah's routine hadn't changed much. She wrote for a newspaper so she could work from home with minimal trips to the office. She had a different store depending on which gender she was at the time. And she kept a distant, but fond contact with friends. Apart from that, she lived the same life. And she was glad of it!

Robert had, however, explained that Peshawa believed in a system of worship. There were clan Gods, apparently. He hadn't offered to teach her the rituals and she hadn't really wanted to ask, but the Peshawa were apparently horribly religious. The morning rites involved some of kind prayer service at sunrise.

The woman tugged on a skirt with a luxurious sigh and discarded the very idea of religion. Karen went to Church on the weekends, and Toby went for some kind of old-fashioned Sunday school, secure in the knowledge that telling a lie was a sin and that God could see every move he made. To her, it sounded a lot like a Big Brother complex. Man needed to feel that there was a purpose and that someone knew it, even if he didn't.

But according to Jareth, the Underground believed in fate. And Jareth was… well, whatever he was, he was powerful and clever and of very great importance even in other dimensions. Therefore, if Jareth believed in a kind of philosophical religion, could she take it for granted that fate existed? The 'Crossroads and Consequences' theory- it was very subtle and very practical. But Jareth had also said that there was a more complex level to it that needed concentration and study.

Sarah's spirits dropped as she remembered again that she was not going to be taken back to the Underground again. She'd liked it there. And there was so much more to see in the Underground.

"Sarah, honey, are you home?"

"In here, Dad."

Robert stuck his head into the kitchen and then followed. "Good morning. Was it a bad change?"

"I slept through it," Sarah shrugged, "I'm a bit sore, but it's getting easier. Does it hurt for you any more?"

"Not really. But then I haven't changed for a long time," Robert excused. He deposited a box on the table and waved a triumphant hand at it. "Karen sent you cake. She had a baking spree yesterday."

"Yum! What is it?"

"I think that one's orange-poppyseed," Robert guessed, "At any rate, it looks sort of like an orange kind of cake. Whatever it is, it should be okay."

Sarah nodded, mouth full as she cut slices. She offered the box up with reluctant politeness but grinned when her birthfather knowingly declined. "More for me," she laughed, taking just one more piece before shutting it up and putting it away. And then a sobering thought occurred to her- "Dad, Karen only bakes when she's upset."

"We had a small argument."

"Dad?"

"It was about Toby, honey. She wanted to send him for swimming lessons and I pointed out that he wasn't interested in swimming. We argued about what was good for him versus what he wanted to do. It finished relatively quickly but she went on to bake the tension away for a while."

"You agreed, didn't you?" Sarah sighed.

The man folded his arms. "No, I didn't. I said no. Which is why she is baking!"

"You said no?" Sarah pretended to faint in shock. "Dad, that's wonderful! How did she take it?"

"I told you, she baked the tension out of herself. There are four more cakes sitting at home and Toby might need to take swimming lessons anyway if only to burn off all the cake he's eating!"

"Dad?"

Robert caught his daughter's stern eye and wilted slightly. "Yes, it was a particularly hard thing to do. But I'm not incapable, you know."

"I know. I'm just glad you realize it."

"Are you done making fun of your father?" he asked, "After everything I've done for you- given you life and love, food and clothing, an education, a home…"

"The annoying habit of saying 'yes' when I want to say 'no'," Sarah put in dryly.

"Alright, I'll give you that."

"It doesn't matter though," she soothed, "I'll get used to it. Like you said, it's not that we're incapable. And we both stand up for ourselves, never mind that we're predisposed to obeying anyone we see as stronger than us."

Robert ruffled her hair and thanked his God for the fact that Sarah had the natural ability to adapt herself to whatever came. She would survive anything with that attitude.

"Think of it! We've both stood up to Jareth!"

And he fell back to earth from all those misty-eyed flights of fantasy.

"You ran away from him because you didn't want to be there, so you made the choice to leave. And I went through his blasted Labryinth to get Toby back and I won! How cool was that?"

"Very. No one else had for years. It's been so long I think even Jareth forgot that it was possible."

"Dad?"

"Hmmm?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, honey. What is it?"

"Did you ever really like Jareth at all? I just wonder, you know. He didn't seem like such a terrible guy to me, but he must have made you really unhappy."

Robert swallowed thickly and tried to formulate some kind of satisfactory answer. There was no real answer to give. The Goblin King had been both worse and better than he had feared. Jareth had listened very patiently to his opinions, trying to draw him out of whatever mindset the iiga implanted in the minds of their young. But then he hadn't been left alone, either. Jareth had insisted on certain duties being performed and certain rituals being followed. Robert had been allowed an opinion on those, but he hadn't been allowed a say in the matter.

"He isn't a bad person," he said slowly, "But we didn't really get along. We were too different."

"And you got along with Mom?"

"With Linda?" It was funny how Sarah still called the woman 'mom'. "I loved her. She was a strong woman, with a great sense of adventure and fun. But she found someone who made her happier so she had to go."

"What about Karen?"

"I love Karen too, Sarah. I wouldn't have married her otherwise."

"See, what I don't understand is how you can marry someone else on earth when you're already married on another dimension?"

They were still in the kitchen, putting things away and talking about these things as if they were perfectly normal topics of conversations for a father to have with his daughter. It wasn't. Not for the majority of households across the world. Most other families didn't even think that other dimensions existed, let alone spoke of them as if they were a plane ride away.

"I suppose I can only say that marriage means different things on different dimensions," Robert began, "In my clan, it means a lifelong commitment to someone until they die or until they decide to throw you away. You walk two paces behind them in the street and you never speak in company unless they give you permission to speak. In the Underground, marriage is a lot less structured. Goblins get together if they feel like it. Or they don't. It's that simple. But once they make it clear that they live as a couple, anyone who tries to break them apart is in a lot of serious trouble. On earth, I suppose it's a bit of a contract, isn't it? We sign a legal document recognizing our marriage and then in theory we have all these privileges of spouses and lovers and whatever else."

"So you're saying that they're all different?"

"The marriage I have in my clan is not a marriage I can have here. This marriage would not be recognized by my clan and my marriage there wouldn't be recognized here either."

"So you just deflect the entire issue by saying marriage is all a question of which dimension you happen to be in. Because on earth, you're not married to anyone else but Karen at the moment. And the Peshawa only recognize your marriage to Jareth."

"No. I never mated with Jareth when he took me."

This was news. Sarah frowned as she tried to assimilate that fact. "What do you mean?" she questioned, "You are married to the guy, aren't you?"

Robert's smile was quite sheepish at this point and he looked as though he wasn't quite sure how to answer this. "Not according to my clan," he said simply, "Jareth took me away from them; I was given to him but we didn't have a mating ceremony or anything. In the Underground, however, once a couple is acknowledged publicly as a couple, they are said to be married. So I am married in the Underground."

Sarah sat down and rubbed at her temples. "I'm going to get a headache," she complained, "It's too complicated! Why couldn't everything be simple? So you're not married to Jareth in your own clan?"

"I'm not mated to him, no."

"So you could always go back if you wanted," Sarah reasoned.

"I could. But what would be the point? I ran away because I didn't like the hold Jareth had on me. And he tried to give me a little bit of freedom! I had no freedom at all in my clan. More so because I was the leader's son. Why would I go back to that?"

"They're family. Don't you want to know how your family is?"

And Robert did. At least, he wanted to know how one member of his family did. Nila was too young, and too compliant, and he could only imagine what Jareth must have done to her! Her third child, indeed! Didn't that monster have any self-restraint? Robert had only left twenty-four years ago. The Goblin King hadn't wasted any time starting a new family.

"Did you mean anyone else there?" he asked casually, "Another girl?"

"Just Vernon. And the usual people in the Goblin Kingdom."

Jareth could have told her to mask herself and her children as goblins for a time, just while Sarah was in the neighbourhood. He probably didn't want Nila infected by his former family's independent streak.

"I only wondered. Jareth mentioned an old friend of mine and he seemed to speak of her as if she lived quite near."

Quite near! In his lap, probably, the man thought darkly.

Sarah ran through the people she had met just to be sure and shook her head again. "No one but goblins. What was your friend's name?"

"Nila."

"No. No one by that name. Was she a goblin, though?"

"No. A peshawa."

"A peshawa? Definitely not. I didn't see any other peshawa around. Except Vernon and I don't think he qualifies."

"Vernon barely qualifies amongst his own people let alone anyone else's," Robert snorted, "The stupid man never could keep his hands to himself. Jareth almost assaulted him at a public function for it."

"He tried the same thing with you? All the compliments and the praise and the 'glories of nature' bit?"

"Oh, God, yes. I kept trying to get away from him and he kept popping up all over the place." Robert grinned and shrugged. "Ah well. The lot of a Peshawa, I suppose, is to be admired."

"I think Jareth might have hit him when I went up to my room," Sarah giggled, "Though I don't know if it was anything to do with me. He threatened to cut his hands off, though, if he didn't stop patting my shoulder."

"I would have bitten him," Robert agreed, "Nasty little devil."

"Oh, he wasn't so bad."

"Mellowed with age, has he?"

"No. I've just never met anyone like him," Sarah explained.

Robert gave her a very stern look that was part determination and part threat- "And you never will again," he promised grimly, "Or I'll have Jareth's head on a spike for it."


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: This has somehow captured my attention and become more than it ever should have. I hope it's playing out alright. I know what it sounds like to me, but I wonder if it isn't a little suspect to everyone else. Let me know if it is. I won't burst into tears and call you names. I promise!

Author's Note2: Sorry for the long delay. I'm afraid it will most likely continue for a month or so. I'm most vilely ill and can barely sit up for long enough to write. But I'll try to update when I can.

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"I wish the Goblin King was here," Robert sighed.

There was no swirling flash of glitter, no brewing storm. Jareth just appeared. And he did Robert the courtesy of appearing right in front of his eyes, instead of where he wasn't looking. That was all the courtesy he allowed.

Robert didn't pay him the proper respect, valiantly telling himself that logically speaking it didn't matter if Jareth had just that Look on his face and if the Goblin King had his hands on his hips in just that Manner. Instead, he got straight to business- "I want to speak to Nila."

"Not possible," Jareth dismissed, dropping his pose to twitch the edge of his cloak negligently.

"She's my sister, Jareth. I want to see her," Robert argued, "Please!"

"Oh, begging now, are we? This sounds more like it."

"Fucking pervert."

"It turns you on," the Goblin King teased, flicking his tongue out like a snake.

"Jareth!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is your wife home?" Jareth looked around in mock interest as if he expected Karen to unfold herself from some corner.

Robert controlled himself with a very great strength of will. "Karen and Toby are at her mother's," he said sharply, "And while we are on the subject, it is understood that you will stay away from my son."

"It is most ironic, you know," Jareth remarked, not rising to the challenge as he dropped down into a chair, "That child was so familiar. Blond hair, blue eyes… almost like mine, I thought. But he isn't my son. We had Sarah. And you went on to begin a whole new family that made her feel left out. A wonderful way to handle things."

"I didn't… look, can I see my sister or not?"

"No."

"Jareth, I am asking for a favour. I just want to know if she's alright."

"Oh, you do?" A dark brow rose intently. "To what purpose?"

Something Sarah had said. "She's family, Jareth."

Jareth watched his former lover, smiling slightly to himself. The peshawa really was worried. Robert looked his most determined. The first time Jareth had seen that look, the beauty had been not quite in the best mood. But those green eyes so determined had captured his interest and he hadn't wanted to leave something so rare to hurt itself.

"Do you really believe that I would take her?" he asked softly, "A compensation for another life?"

Those green eyes flickered. "I believe anything of you."

"Hmmm. Yes, you always did, didn't you?" Jareth got up in his usual abrupt way. "I cannot take you to her. It isn't my privilege. But I can show her to you." He pulled a crystal from the air and offered it. "Look inside."

Robert hesitated for the barest moment, but Jareth didn't seem to be playing a trick or attempting anything. So the man took it, cradling it carefully in his hands and frowning slightly as he looked inside.

The female was not as he expected to see her.

"The parents of your former betrothed was less scrupulous about accepting one life for another," Jareth commented, almost sympathetically, "But she seems happy. I met with her just recently at a feast given by some upstart merchant who is, unfortunately, quite influential. Baer is not like his sister; he would never treat her the way his sister would have treated you."

The crystal was in danger of cracking under the force of pressure.

"She laughs, Robert. Look. She is safe." Jareth carefully pried his crystal away, knowing better than to let Robert steep in his own conflicting emotions the way he was doing. He took the still cupped hand in both of his own and carefully stroked it with his fingers, easing the tension away. "Easy, truina. Calm down."

"I am calm, damn you." The hand was snatched away.

Jareth sighed and considerately put a distance between them. It was annoying to constantly be pushed away. He had only tried to be nice. Apparently his presence was still irksome. He discarded his good feelings and waited disparately for the usual questions and veiled insults. He was prepared for them.

"You say she is fine," Robert eventually asked.

"She is. Your family are still upset with you but she says you always were unprepared for the usual life of a Peshawa. Do you know, she once thought that I could make you happy?" Jareth's smirk was cold. "Such rubbish!"

"Is this self-deprecation I hear?" Robert could have bitten his tongue out. He knew the tell-tale signs of anger. And honestly, he shouldn't have snapped in such a bad temper. The Goblin King had only been trying to relate to him. Unfortunately, Robert didn't trust his motives either.

"No. Common sense. No one will ever make you happy."

Robert looked askance.

Jareth smiled. "You don't want to be happy. What you want, you're incapable of having. You'll never be happy."

"You'll excuse me if I don't share your optimism. Could you at least try to lie for Sarah's sake?"

"Why should I?" Jareth demanded, "I don't want her to grow up like you. Unhappy and bitter. It will be the best for her if she knows the truth and accepts it."

"Oh, it will? So you don't care that you'll give someone else the power to do anything to her? Anything at all? Even hurt her?"

The Goblin King smiled in smug satisfaction. "Which is why no one will come within a distance of her without my permission."

"Your permission? You don't really care about her. You barely know her," Robert spat, "So I'll thank you to keep away from her."

"She already established contact with me, truina. I don't intend to break it now unless she wills otherwise."

The two glared at each other. But nothing had ever been accomplished by glaring. Robert just shook his head and resigned himself to the fact. There was nothing he could do about it and he knew that perfectly well. And he didn't really believe that Jareth would hurt his daughter. Not intentionally, at any rate. He said so, oddly relieved in spite of himself to see Jareth's face soften at the admission.

"Why did you let me believe you had Nila?" he challenged instead, "I thought they had given her to you."

"They offered her," Jareth agreed, "I never said that I accepted her."

"You…" No. Jareth never had said he had taken her. Robert had just assumed.

"Robert, you always believe the worst of me," Jareth sighed, shaking his blond head, "When have I ever given you reason to suspect me?"

The man shut down. He didn't want to talk about it. It was too personal. He could barely articulate it to himself let alone to the other partner in such a doomed relationship. How does one tell someone that they were cruel when one knows they hadn't ever really meant to be cruel? Jareth wouldn't believe him anyway. And they would argue. Robert didn't want to argue. He'd made a fool of himself the last time, losing his temper like that.

"Robert, I have a thought for you. And I want you to consider it from all angles," Jareth said suddenly, "Sarah is my only child and heir. I could start a family again and have another, but I'm not interested in that. She has fire. She has commitment. And she does like the Underground. It is too soon to tell if she can ever manage it, but I would like to take her back there a few times more, to assess her reactions."

"You want to take her back Underground?"

"As my heir, yes. It is her birthright as it is. She might as well have it."

"No. Most definitely not. It's too dangerous for her."

"Under my protection, Robert?" The Goblin King's voice was just a little sharp and cold.

"That's not what I meant, Jareth," the Peshawa sighed, "I don't want to confuse her now. She's just getting used to things- settling down. Telling her about having to marry the next King of an entire kingdom is a big deal."

"Who said anything about marrying the King? She will be Queen. Of course, she will need a strong mate to protect her from being unduly influenced by her urges, but it might work. That is, of course, only if she proves to have the aptitude."

Robert stared.

Jareth blinked enquiringly, as if this wasn't a concept that flew in the face of everything held sacred to every race that knew about the Underground or the Peshawa. An iigon as a Ruler? That was a reversal of fortune the like of which had never happened. No iiga ruled! Even in the clan! The clan leader's mate ruled! It was impossible for it to be otherwise.

"You're joking, aren't you?" he finally asked, awed and fascinated.

Jareth thought about it. "No."

"You must be. It sounds good in theory, but even if Sarah was named Ruler, whoever her mate was, the temptation will be to take the power from her." Robert huffed and waved a hand. "It won't work."

"It will. We just have to find the right person. But you're missing the point. Sarah has been raised outside of the Underground as a mortal. It is possible that she will have no real connection to the Labyrinth or the goblins. We may not need to find a suitable mate."

"So you're going to make her wait on a maybe and then actually say 'no' and crush all her dreams?"

Jareth rubbed his temples and tried to will his annoyance away. "No," he murmured carefully, "I am going to tell her nothing. I am going to take her down to the Underground on a few occasions for a holiday or to meet those three imbecile friends of her, and then I'll watch her. If she shows natural aptitude, I'll think about it. If she doesn't, I don't need to tell her."

"So you'll lie about your reasons for taking her down there."

"Of course."

"So the only reason you want to see Sarah is for your bloody Kingdom?"

"No. But I happen to like spending time with her so that should excuse me."

Robert studied the other man, trying to think of a way to express his reservations without getting Jareth even more annoyed than he already was. That the Goblin King was annoyed was no great feat of detection; he was standing ramrod straight, his strange eyes were narrowed with the brows lowered over them; he was, moreover, directing that piercing gaze at no one but Robert. In a normal mood, he would be looking around, his short attention span caught by anything at all while he carried on a conversation at the same time.

"She's been through enough without any more confusion," he settled on, "You can spend time with her, but only if she agrees to it. Don't tempt me to steal her away again, Jareth. I'll do it, I really will."

"Oh, no, you won't." The Goblin King was not playing games as far as this was concerned. He hadn't dragged his family back Underground, but he wouldn't allow them to hide from him again. That much he still demanded. "I am still your mate, Robert. And if I think it will serve my purpose, I will have no hesitation in forcing the issue. You won't fight me… much."

Robert flinched.

Jareth touched his shoulder and he wasn't smiling this time. "I will go to Sarah in a week," he said, "Don't interfere."

And then he was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

"Hoggle? Are you here?"

The dwarf dropped his spray can and stamped out of the little niche to meet the owner of that familiar voice. "Sarah! What are you doing here?"

"Jareth brought me back," she said happily.

At the very mention of that name, Hoggle looked around in a panic, expecting to see the owner of the name leaning against the Labyrinth wall with that peculiar mix of mockery and disdain on his face. But Jareth was thankfully nowhere in sight. For that, Hoggle's pleasure in seeing Sarah could only be greater.

"So," he said gruffly, "What d'you want now?"

"I came to talk," Sarah said, stifling a smile, "If you have the time, of course."

"I s'ppose I has to," Hoggle grumbled, "What with you being a Princess and ev'rything. Can't refuse a Princess."

Sarah actually felt alarmed at such a thought. She hadn't thought of that. And for all that she knew Hoggle was only being his usual morose self, there was an underlying sense of actual belief to those words. Putting out her hand, she caught Hoggle by the shoulder and looked down earnestly at him. "I'm not a Princess," she said carefully, "I'm just Sarah."

Watery blue eyes gazed shrewdly back up at her. "Just Sarah. Daughter of the Goblin King. Which makes you a Princess. Can't be changing who you are," he said sagely. He pulled himself away and dusted himself off a little self-consciously.

"Can we still talk like we used to?"

Those green eyes were troubled. And whatever else Hoggle was, he wasn't heartless. Especially where Sarah was concerned. "Yeah," he mumbled, "Like we used to."

He loped off and didn't look back. Sarah followed only because she chose to.

The Peshawa found that this happened more often than she liked. The goblins all called her Yis Lannon, Sir Didymus was always bowing and declaring his loyalty to her, Ludo wouldn't come near her unless she called him and Hoggle just wasn't the same. She couldn't understand it. And what was more, she didn't like it.

She complained to Jareth, but the Goblin King's only reaction was to point out distractedly that she was, unfortunately or not, born royalty.

"You are owed a certain amount of deference by your birth. You cannot change that."

She didn't bring it up again after that.

Jareth was still in the habit of going his own way. She went to see him a few times, and he was always welcoming, but he never sought her out on his own. She thought of asking him, but felt awkward. They got along, but only on a superficial level. He didn't seem to want anything to do with her, which in turn made her wonder why he had bothered asking her to come down to the Underground in the first place.

It wasn't long before she began to feel a little out of place.

The goblins had no schedule and without the support of her friends, she wasn't sure if she really liked the dimension any more. The Labyrinth certainly held no more interest for her. And without anyone to talk to or interact with, Sarah was at a very loose end.

A week went by and for the first time Troy wouldn't even tell her where Jareth was, and when she tried to see him, he sent back a note saying that he was busy and didn't have the time.

Sarah was vaguely aware that running a kingdom was a time-consuming task. She supposed that there were a lot of things that required Jareth's attention. And since no one else seemed to be ruling the country, it looked as though Jareth had all the responsibility.

But then, he'd never ignored her in favour of his work. He'd always seemed quite happy to see her before.

Now, she wasn't so sure. She tried to make do with her friends, working patiently on dispelling the distance that had built up between them. Hoggle seemed to be thawing a little, and Ludo would at least come to say hello. But they were still nervous of her. And she couldn't quite blame them for it.

One glorious morning, she woke up and Mika, the goblin, came in with hot water and a fresh dress. Sarah rolled her eyes at the flowing gowns, but she had to admit that she quite liked them. They were simple, they were comfortable, and they looked pretty. Since the goblins also seemed to wear thin leggings beneath it, she was happy enough to run around in them.

"Good morning, Yis Lannon," the tall goblin murmured, hopping up onto a stool to reach the basin in the corner. She carefully poured the hot water in and mixed it expertly with the cold.

"Morning, Mika. What time is it?" Sarah yawned.

"Eight o'clock, Yis Lannon."

Sarah sat up and rubbed her eyes, sighing deeply as she tried to dislodge the sleep still clinging to her brain.

"Anything else, Yis Lannon?"

"Hm? Er, no, Mika."

The goblin girl studied the woman for a moment, hands carefully clasped in front of her. "Are you ill, Yis Lannon?"

"No. I just didn't sleep very well. You can go, now." Sarah tugged on her ear and scratched her head.

"Yes, Yis Lannon."

"Mika?"

The goblin stopped at the door and turned enquiringly.

Sarah thought about it a bit more. "Is my father free today?" she asked quietly. Going back was sounding better than it had before. "I know he said he was busy, but I was hoping to talk to him for a bit."

Mika shifted and looked down to the scrubbed stone floor. "I don't know, Yis Lannon," she confessed, "It isn't my job. I only do what I'm told, and His Majesty's business is very private. I can relay a message if you want."

"Oh. Okay." Sarah nodded and waited until Mika left before sliding out of bed and stretching properly with her feet on the floor. The beds were horrible in the Underground; they used feathers and Sarah just couldn't get comfortable on such soft, deep surfaces.

The hot water was wonderfully comforting and Sarah sighed as she splashed it over her face and neck, sluicing it over her arms before picking up the cloth to wipe down the rest of herself. The bathing had been a bit of a problem the first time. But Troy had explained. She still felt weird washing behind a screen in her bedroom. But so long as she got to soak in a hot bath properly every night she was happy.

She changed her shift, she slipped on the soft leggings, and then she tried to find her way into the gown.

Halfway through the dressing, Sarah heard a polite knock on the door. Turning her head and struggling to get her arms and head sorted out, she let out a muffled call of welcome.

She was expecting Mika. Troy entered, bearing a breakfast tray and looking a little grim.

"Good morning, Yis Lannon," the goblin said quietly, putting the tray down on the table by the window.

"Troy! Hi," Sarah called cheerfully, "Sorry you had to see that, but these things take a bit of getting used to." She fumbled at her back, trying to tie the sash tight enough. "Erm, could you?"

Troy smiled and amiably did up the sash, deftly making sure it wasn't tight enough to be a nuisance. "Is there anything else, Yis Lannon?"

"No, thanks. Is that breakfast?"

"Yes." Troy courteously pulled out the chair for her. "If there is anything you need, Yis Lannon, only call me."

"Thanks, Troy. Er, why am I getting breakfast brought to me? Is this a special occasion I don't know about?" Sarah was only joking. She laughed as she buttered the still hot bread, eyeing the conserve with a fair amount of hunger. She was completely unprepared for the goblin to clear her throat very carefully.

"About that, Yis Lannon, I have a message from His Majesty King Jareth. He is busy today," Troy said, "He would appreciate being left to finish his work alone."

"I see." Sarah ate her bread and conserve with very little evidence of being disturbed.

Troy nodded and bowed herself out. For her part, she was very relieved. The little she knew about the king's daughter was that Sarah was likely to be upset by such a direct command. Troy had tried to soften it. Jareth had actually asked that the woman be sent out of the Castle for the day.

"Get her out of my way," he'd demanded, "I don't want to see her today."

Troy was overly optimistic.

Sarah wasn't stupid. She could recognize diplomacy when she heard it. And Troy had been very diplomatic. So she concluded that Jareth had been much more vehement. And for Jareth to be vehement, it meant he had ordered her to keep away from him.

That, in itself, was a bit insulting. She had been asking to meet him quite persistently as of late, but there was no call to be rude about it. Besides, it had been his idea for her to come back to the Underground. She hadn't asked! She was tired of being constantly deflected when she was only reacting the way Jareth had given her reason to react.

She sipped on her tea and decided that she hated the stuff. She never drank it Aboveground and for all the romance in being served hot sweet tea the moment she woke up, she didn't like it. And she didn't like having to eat in her room. And she didn't like being ignored.

Getting up in a swift whisper of cloth, she left the rest of her breakfast where it was to slip on her shoes and do them up. After which, she took one last look at herself in the mirror and decided that she looked decided of the Underground. Then she left the room.

She knew the way to Jareth's study. She'd been there before, what with Jareth's apparent friendliness on her last visit. There were no goblins anywhere that she could see, but it didn't occur to her to find anything suspicious in that. The goblins did what they wanted to do. It was quite likely that they just didn't want to run up and down the corridors.

The outer door to Jareth's study was open. The cheerful sitting room with the deep armchairs where he did most of his work was unoccupied. The writing case Jareth usually had perched on his knees when he was busy was shut up and put carefully away on the small table beside his favourite chair. Along with the small pair of glasses that never failed to surprise her when she saw him wear them.

There was another door, however, that led into an inner sanctum where Jareth's documents were filed and maps of the Underground and the Labyrinth were kept.

She knocked on the door and ignored the warm sunshine as she went in without waiting.

Jareth was definitely busy. He was, in point of fact, talking to someone else. Another quite like him. She caught his eye first, pinned by his cool blue gaze over Jareth's brown-clad shoulder. The conversation broke off and the man actually moved away to look at her properly.

Jareth noticed right away that there was something wrong. He turned and Sarah couldn't tear her eyes away from the other man to look at him.

"Sarah," he snapped.

The gaze broke and she approached the Goblin King and quietly asked if she could have a word with him, flustered and confused by the flood of heat over her body. The little hairs on the back of her neck were rising and her fingers were twitching almost uncontrollably.

Jareth was on the verge of demanding she leave instantly when he saw the look on her face. And realized what Sarah was unconsciously doing.

He gripped her by the arm and towed her straight out of the door. "Never," he seethed, "Ever walk into my room like that again."

"I'm sorry!" Green eyes were wide in shock. "I didn't mean to. I just wanted to talk to you and then you told Troy to keep me in my room and… What's wrong?"

He let go of her arm and glared down at her. "Look at yourself," he whispered harshly.

Sarah looked down at herself and didn't see anything different. "What?" she asked again, "I'm sorry I interrupted you. I didn't know there was anyone else with you."

"Never mind what you interrupted!" He shook her a little and then noticed she was shaking. "Good God, you've never done this before, have you?"

"Done what?" she asked, her teeth chattering.

He swore softly in his own tongue and then loosened his grip only enough to stop bruising her arm. "Sit down," he said almost gently, "Right there. Don't move. Are you hot?" He touched her brow and clicked his tongue. "You're burning up. You have certainly never done this before." He padded noiselessly back into the room and held a whispered conversation with the door half-open.

"My guest is indisposed… you will have to return later…"

"Indisposed or in need… very well, Jareth… enjoy yourself."

The other man exited the room with a lanky swagger, his round face breaking into a leering smile as his eye fell upon the woman in the armchair. "Forgive my monopoly on His Majesty," he paused to murmur, "If I had known, I would have sent him back to his room sooner."

He laughed and left the room.

Sarah tried to absorb the words through the blood roaring in her ears and looked at Jareth with some measure of pleading.

The Goblin King wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the door with a very hard gleam in his eyes. He almost seemed immobile in his fury. And then he relaxed and put away that malice for the job on hand.

Working quickly, he made her lie down on the cool floor and lifted her head himself to let her drink some water.

"Just relax," he soothed, "It will pass."

For all the time that Sarah spent shivering and shaking on the floor of the Goblin King's study, she was aware at the back of her mind that she had never expected Jareth of all people to be quite so caring. He didn't move her more than was necessary. He kept his voice soft and he kept his hands gentle.

Eventually the shaking stopped and Sarah only had to uncoil her tensed muscles and let her mind clear. Jareth was right there with her, sitting cross-legged beside her with the glass of water next to him in case she wanted another drink. When the fit passed, he sat back and let his natural irritation come to the forefront. But he waited, just a while more, until Sarah looked as though she could stand an in-depth discussion.

"I'm sorry," she began softly.

"I'm sure you are," he bit out, "But that was still a remarkably stupid and irresponsible thing to do."

"I told you- I wanted to talk to you," she insisted. She sat up and the world didn't spin quite as much as she had feared it would.

Jareth steadied her but didn't give another inch- "You were luring him! Do you even know who he is?"

"I wasn't doing anything! I only entered the room and then I felt faint. I didn't eat very much this morning and I walked very fast so it must have been that," Sarah argued hotly, "I have no idea what you're talking about but you're getting angry over nothing. This is your fault, you know. You were the one ignoring me!"

"Really." The Goblin King helped her get to her feet and then instantly put her into a chair again. "Sit there and don't move." He drew up another chair and looked at his daughter. There was no point getting angry with her, he realized, she hadn't a clue as to what she had just stumbled into. "Sarah, have you ever heard of the Gerengh?"

"No."

"The Gerengh are very close neighbours to the goblins. They are what you humans call trolls. You have just met the King of the Gerengh. Saxony is not someone to let this go. He is a gossipmonger and he is always- mark me, always- looking for ways to undermine the position of other people. On the upside, he needs my help very badly and he has been a good friend to me. The downside is that friendship isn't enough when it comes to a country."

"Jareth, you're speaking in riddles again," Sarah pointed out, her head vaguely protesting the lesson on culture.

The Goblin Kin ran a hand through his hair and sighed audibly. "You create more trouble than I like," he accused, "Saxony has seen you. In the mortal world you can lure all you like. All you'll get is a very aroused human who can't understand what made him such a beast. In my world, Sarah, people know. Saxony knows what you are from the very look of you. And you lured him!"

Sarah absorbed this revelation. She looked down at her hands and noticed that the nails were perfect. Which made no sense because she bit her nails and kept them short enough to type with. Looking up very timidly to meet Jareth's infuriated mismatched eyes, she shrugged helplessly. "What's luring?" she asked.

Jareth shut his eyes briefly in resignation.


	11. Chapter 11

Jareth was not usually the type to use his fists. He preferred to stand aside and let others handle the work for him. It wasn't courage or lack thereof; it was just strategically easier to get a conquered enemy to assist in the nameless future if he himself had not dealt the blows.

But he was hard-pressed not to do something about Saxony's leering self-amusement.

"But I should have expected it, Jareth," the man was saying, "The nights do get cold in the Underground."

"There are blankets in my kingdom, Saxony. Are you done yet?"

The other man laughed and put down his fork, cupping his round face in his hands as he gazed with affection at his old friend. "You could just laugh with me instead of scowling in that cursed fashion. The cream will spoil if you keep that up."

The Goblin King sat back moodily and refused to even answer such an unworthy remark. He had a low threshold for mockery himself and he had held his temper in check only through sheer willpower for the last hour. His jaw was beginning to ache from all the clenching and grinding of teeth.

Saxony chuckled again but held up a hand in surrender. "Your new peshawa is not my concern. But this business with the Allorn Queen is. What in Fate's name have you done to merit this venom?"

Jareth raised an eyebrow as he took the proffered pages. "Spies?" he asked casually.

"I can't answer that. But I pay well for such intimate insights into Her Majesty's thoughts."

"Paying for extracts of the Allorn Queen's diary is not very honest," Jareth remarked, "You must put me in touch with your informant. The person is splendid."

"Mm, yes. As you can see the Queen is set to organize a black mark against you. She claims to have paid you for advice that only served to worsen her situation with the Cherisse."

"So I see." Jareth put down the script and tried to formulate some kind of contingency plan.

The Allorn Queen had always been a touchy subject, arranging and discarding alliances as easily as changing her gown. Jareth didn't take it as a personal affront; it was the way she was. She did it to everyone. Only ten years ago had she loudly insisted that the Vherders had refused her their rock crystal in favour of another country simply because they wanted to impoverish the Allorns. Jareth had been approached for advise on that one.

Saxony's general self-assured good humour sobered somewhat. The business troubled him more than he had yet said- "Jareth, usually no one would take this seriously. Oric is prone to these bouts. But she has picked the wrong facet this time. Or the right one, depending on whose side you are on. All you have is your advise to sustain your kingdom in this world. If your reputation is called into question, you will lose a lot of ground."

"And you will have to react."

"If I can't trust your judgement, I can't trust you," Saxony said bluntly, "You've always maintained a highly suspicious enigma in the past, but with this, I will be forced to withdraw support."

"You've never been a particularly important support, Saxony."

"No, but I have Niko's ear. And if the King of the Vherders decides to withdraw his support as well… you are done for."

"I take it you came here to warn me."

"I did say I had information to discuss."

Jareth laughed and picked up the pages again. He folded them carefully and handed them back with a slight bow. "Never fear, my friend," he said ironically, "My reputation will stand as it always does. And even if this business with the Allorn Queen is to damage it, for how long will I remain blacklisted?"

"A long time."

"My people are self-sufficient. And I trade in other things besides my mind."

"Yes, but the Labyrinth can only supply so many precious stones and so much encapsulated magic. Frieze art is good, but my people create mosaics and I must admit the market is picking up for mosaics and falling in frieze art. There are other things, too. Less travel between your kingdom and others, halting exchange of currency and making sure that there is no increase in your coffers and no increase in your country's value."

"Such dire warnings!"

"I'm serious, Jareth."

"So am I. You're growing concerned over something that is completely negligible."

"How so?"

"Say the Allorn Queen has her way. My reputation is in tatters and none of you care to darken my country's borders again. Eventually you, Saxony, will come to a problem that taxes you far too much to ponder. Suppose, for example, that it concerns the rising draught in your land. And you are not satisfied with your advisers. You go to the King of the Vherders, but Niko has his own problems. He is concerned with his inability to mine the rock crystal fast enough for the growing market because the market is now looking for other materials to replace this rock crystal that is so hard to mine in large quantities. He applies to you in his turn. The Allorn Queen has her problems with the Cherisse and also with the fact that her personal jeweller cannot obtain rock crystal fast enough to create those wonderful pieces of jewellery that she so loves, added to the fact that the fertile soil of the Gerengh is so thirsty that her country is now deficient in beraf and mallow."

Jareth ended his involved litany of projected evils and relished it openly. He drummed his fingers casually on the table and traced the silver embroidery with his eyes. From the awkward shifting to his left, he knew that Saxony's mind had followed his with perfect ease. It was not a pretty picture. The three dimensions involved in such a shallow farce would be ruined if such a state of affairs were ever to arise.

"Now, I," he said meditatively, "Would advise you to focus your attentions on the production of mallow. Mallow has so many uses that even the smallest barrelfuls can give you a little margin by which to set the stage. It will be slow, but the more you plant, the more you increase your chances of rain. Within reason, of course. And then send teams in to Niko's kingdom to assist the vherders to mine that bloody rock crystal. The first consignment should be sent to the cherisse for their tools. The best consignment should be sent to the Allorn Queen herself. When matters are more stable, increase the production of mallow on the promise that the allorns will redirect a tributary of their border river into the mallow fields nearest to that side. That leaves the rest of your depleted water table free to water your people and other necessary crops."

Saxony shook hisblond head in amusement. "Too easy," he said, "And it takes too much for granted."

"It is a gamble, but when has my advise ever steered you wrong?" Jareth pointed out.

"Apparently your advise steered Oric wrong. After that business with your peshawa and daughter, this might be too much."

"Them?" Jareth dismissed the entire subject with a careless shrug. "What have they to do with anything?"

"Jareth, a peshawa will follow his or her master to the ends of the earth. Yours ran away. How bad a master must one be before one's slave feels that his only recourse is to run? More importantly, he took your child with him."

"Iiga are sentimental about their young. Of course he took the girl! I would have been surprised if he had not."

"As you say. But considering you were responsible for the match between Oric and Greville, this only adds fuel to the fire. You've made some awful judgements in your time."

"Oric and Greville were perfectly suited. Besides, he lined up the women and asked me which of them would suit his temperament. I chose from a limited range, I assure you."

"Greville poisoned himself to escape her constant nagging," Saxony reminded him.

"Greville poisoned himself to escape his guilt over that business with his child by the Cherisse priestess," Jareth snapped, "Don't tell me your spies never found that out. Oric came crying to me, demanding how she was to handle that."

"And you foolishly made the arrangements? I never thought you stupid before."

Jareth grinned at a memory. "I tried sending her to you but she said you had all the finesse of a redback bull," he chuckled, rising to lead the way to a more comfortable room in the Castle, "Oric was most unflattering."

Saxony flushed but ceded the point. He didn't have much time for the Allorn Queen either. He stood too, and followed the Goblin King's slender back. Jareth hadn't changed much in all the years they had known each other. Their lives were of the approximate same length; their abilities were approximately well matched. They were equals in almost everything. In everyone else's eyes. They both regarded the other as being just a little in need of their benign assistance.

"The priestess was sent away, I think. The child was never heard from again." Saxony scratched his bearded chin, trying to remember.

"Saxony, why do you think Oric keeps Vernon on hand?" Jareth tossed back.

"No! Really?"

"You are as bad as the old women who try to put the world to rights over afternoon tea," the Goblin King commented, "Sit down. Cigarette?"

"Please."

Jareth proffered the flat gold case and both were silent as they silently lit their respective cigarettes. The two men took a long pull each and exhaled slowly. Saxony even closed his blue eyes to better feel the narcotic feed into his bloodstream. Jareth was much more used to it.

"So Vernon is Greville's illegitimate son, is he? It seems fitting that such a flirt should be the outcome of unbridled lust."

"I could care less."

Saxony tilted his head and pushed back into the leather of the armchair. In white shirtsleeves and bottle green vest and trousers, he was as much of a dashing figure as Jareth. All those of their race were, even if they did have no name, no country of their own. The Gentlefolk, they were often called, named so because of their attractiveness and easy acquisition of noble positions. Wherever they went, it seemed that prestige followed.

Sustaining that prestige was almost as important to the Gentlefolk as acquiring it. Very rarely would one of the numerous kings, queens or leaders of the dimensions step away from their importance willingly.

And Jareth now had a problem on his hands. Vernon was a flirt and a bastard, yes, but he could keep a secret. Saxony, on the other hand, would spread the tale far and wide that Jareth seemed to have a new peshawa living with him. The scandal from the last peshawa in his possession had barely settled a few years ago. People were still apt to mention it- awkwardly and indirectly, or humorously and openly.

Either way, if Sarah didn't even know the basics about her race, she couldn't be introduced to company at large. A peshawa with no control over her ability to lure was a danger. Jareth wouldn't actually be able to blame anyone who took advantage of her when she was provoking them so strongly. Even if she didn't know she was doing it. Even if she were hurt by it.

"You look pensive, Jareth. Or just tired? Your little lady must be keeping you busy," Saxony teased. He took another contented drag on his cigarette, smiling around the slender stick.

The Goblin King smiled blandly and said nothing.

"She really is beautiful," the Gerengh King contemplated, "You have an absolute talent for picking beauties, my friend. I thought Robert would be the pinnacle of your taste but this new one far surpassed him. When did you get her?"

"I didn't get her. She is my guest and she arrived here two weeks ago."

"Two weeks? I've been here four days! How have I never met her till this morning?"

Dual-coloured eyes widened in mock surprise at being asked such a question. "Introduce her to you?" Jareth said, "I would never subject her to that indignity."

"Oh." Saxony stubbed out his cigarette and narrowed his blue eyes as a thought occurred to him. "Do you know, I actually believe you."

"Hmmm? Do talk sense, Saxony. I'm in no mood for vacuous inanities."

"Come, come, Jareth. If you did have her, you would have flaunted her. I see it now. You really don't own her!"

The Goblin King reconciled himself to a few annoying confidences.

"That makes her available. What is a young, female Peshawa- an iigon, if I'm not mistaken- doing alone and unattended away from her clan and family? Is she another in disgrace? Never tell me that you have become the haven of all iigas with an independent streak!"

"Saxony, would you never mention this again if I asked it?" Jareth sighed.

"Of course not! I could foster a lot of good will with this news."

The Goblin King pinched the bridge of his nose and told himself that he had expected nothing else. In truth, he had been half-decided to tell the Gerengh King the basic truth all evening. Sarah had lured the poor man, had revealed herself to him, and even if Saxony had decided to keep a still tongue from finer feelings, he wouldn't realize the danger unless he knew the truth. Or some of the truth. Luckily, Saxony was a gossipmonger but he too could keep a secret… if it was necessary.

"She reminds me of someone," Saxony said suddenly, "It's that hair. A family trait of yours, I believe. Yes. Very usual in your family. Your father had hair of that colour. And those eyes. Robert had eyes like that, did he not? That bright green?"

Jareth stilled and waited, confident that all he could do now was hope for the best.

"Your daughter is a beautiful woman," Saxony ended, "It would be a shame to see something happen to her."

"I would have a lot to say about that."

"I imagine you would. Ah well, you will have to give my regards to her. I leave in the morning now that my business is complete. I wish her good health and happiness in her future."

"Saxony?"

"I won't tell. Why should I? I can do without the controversy. Besides, I think I have a job for Vernon that will require him to stay with me for a few months. I shall enjoy playing with him for a while."

Jareth smiled and left it at that.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: I'm beginning to wonder how many people actually read this fiction...

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"So I can make anyone I want fall in love with me?" Sarah asked.

Jareth thought his daughter really was a little like him after all. "Not quite," he cautioned, just because he suspected that he should, "You can make people fall in lust with you."

"Anyone I want? You mean that? Any guy at all?"

"Any girl too."

Sarah wrinkled her nose at the thought. "How do I do that?" she asked.

Jareth raised an eyebrow. The question was just a little too quick. Too eager? He stifled a smile and decided that he might just like having Sarah around. She was trouble, but she did provide amusement. At the back of his mind he was vaguely aware that most fathers would be horrified by this kind of talk from their offspring. But they were barely acquainted, let alone close. He supposed he did care about her, but he didn't feel any great deal of love for her as an individual just yet.

"The usual way," he said mysteriously, "It depends on the situation."

"What's the usual way?"

He tilted his head. "You ask a lot of questions."

"You never give me enough information," Sarah exclaimed indignantly. She studied the map and then stabbed at a patch of forest she recognized. "I remember that. I met the fieries there."

"Did you like them? I always enjoy watching them perform."

"Those furry red creeps? They tried to take my head off."

"I take it you didn't attempt to fit in," Jareth remarked, "You should have sung with them."

"I didn't know the words."

"A poor excuse, Sarah. You could have made them up."

Sarah scowled at this gentle teasing. She feigned indifference and bent back over the map, forcibly trying to mark out the path she had taken through the Labyrinth before.

Jareth just watched her, a half-smile on his face. Without Saxony around, there was no more of that unconscious adjusting of image any more. She still bit her nails, at least, and he found it interesting to catalogue her various oddities. She bit her nails, she tugged on her hair, she giggled silently when she didn't laugh outright… he already had quite the list.

"You're staring at me again," Sarah accused, green eyes flicking up momentarily, "I can feel you, you know."

"Does it bother you?"

"Yeah. I don't like being stared at."

The half-smile had faded somewhat, but now it came back and progressed to a full-blown smirk. The Goblin King leaned forward on the desk, moving even closer to her, blue-brown eyes fixed ever more unwaveringly on her face.

Sarah shifted uncomfortably but raised her chin defiantly. "Are you done yet?"

"After so many years, I find it hard not to examine my daughter's face," Jareth said lightly.

Sarah looked even more uncomfortable, but she allowed it. Looking back down to the map, the peshawa studiously ignored him. She suspected that it was the only way to deal with Jareth. Arguing didn't even dent his stubborn resolve. And hinting? Jareth was subtle, but he ignored most hints that didn't correspond to his particular way of operating.

Jareth was certainly aware of subtleties. His daughter was pale, with two angry spots of colour in her cheeks. Her eyes were sparking and she held herself as if about to run away. Like a caged animal. He remembered that posture very well. If it were an inherited gesture, he could be sure that this was as much as she could take. More than this and he would push her too far.

Deliberately looking away, he began to hum to himself as he wandered casually to the window and sat down. He swung his leg up onto the sill, pressing his back against the frame. Summoning a crystal, he began to sing to himself as he wove them around his fingers.

Sarah relaxed, sighing inaudibly as her muscles unknitted a little. She raised a hand to rub at the back of her neck.

"How long do I stay this time?" she asked.

He didn't answer right away. He finished his verse and then thought.

Sarah patiently pulled a chair up and waited. She didn't believe for a second that he hadn't heard her. Jareth was far more aware of his surroundings than anyone else she had ever met.

"However long you wish."

"When does my welcome run out?"

Jareth shrugged, the shirt stretching across his chest. "You may come and go as you wish," he said again. Neutral. Non-threatening.

"Anything I wish, huh? You offered me my dreams. Do you do that with everyone?"

Jareth began to laugh. He couldn't help it. It was the only point of that entire meeting that he truly found amusing. The rest of it he had spent walking a tightrope between duty and desire, between cold reason and morbid bitterness. His first impulse had been to find his missing slave instantly and demand retribution. And then his black sense of humour had come to his rescue and he hadn't been able to resist!

"What? What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Nothing."

"Well, then, explain."

"Sarah, what was the one thing you really desired more than anything else when I first saw you?" Jareth began. He couldn't keep the superior smile from his face. This was the one joke that never went stale with him.

"To be an actress," she said promptly.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. That was all I ever wanted to be. My mom was… I mean, Linda was an actress. And she used to read me stories and we used to do all the voices and play all the parts."

Jareth admitted to a twinge of regret that that woman had seen a part of his daughter that he hadn't had the chance to see. "You're wrong," he told her.

"No, I'm telling you…"

"The right question, Sarah, needs the right answer," he stressed, "Think! At the exact moment you realized that Toby was gone forever, what did you want the most in the world?" He saw recognition dawn in her eyes. "The only thing you wanted was Toby, wasn't it? You would have done anything to have Toby back. Your dreams, at that moment, included having your little brother safely back in his cot, with the goblins gone and no strange man standing in your parents' bedroom."

"You offered to give me Toby back and didn't even tell me!" Sarah couldn't hear her own voice rising through the breathlessness in her lungs.

The Goblin King waved soothing hands at her. "It's a common human error," he assured her, "No humans think logically when it's most needed. And you are the only one I have ever made that offer to."

Sarah calmed down considerably. "Why couldn't you have just given him back?" she asked bitterly.

"And broken trust with the Labyrinth? If I went around refusing to do my duty, the connection between this world and yours would be broken. Which means the flow of magic would be discontinued and my people would have to recycle their magic, which would, in turn, thin the effects until we have to use vast amounts of energy for the most basic spell. No, I had to take Toby."

"But just one child! What difference would Toby have made?"

Jareth was disappointed, he really was. If Sarah thought she could be haphazardly lenient in a position of power, then she was not at all the sort of person to lead a country. Especially where business with the Labyrinth was concerned.

"And just where is this line to be drawn?" he questioned, "With Toby? Alright, I give Toby back to you. Who else? The children I don't like I keep? Why should I take away what I don't want? The children I do like? I assure you they aren't enough to sustain the Labyrinth. Only babies? Only unwanted babies? What about babies that are still being breastfed? What about toddlers wished away by a guardian or a babysitter? Should I take them if it's not their parents who wish them away?" He began to count the categories on his long fingers. "Then we have the older children, who are aware of what is happening to them. The kind of trauma they face when they are wished away is tremendous. Surely I should feel pity for them. Or those who are wished away by those who don't really mean to do it. As you did with Toby." He put down his hand.

Sarah rubbed her temples and sighed. "You're not going to let me win this argument."

"I don't see a reason to give you such a false victory."

"So all that talk about not being an ordinary girl taking care of a screaming baby was your idea of a private joke."

Jareth grinned unashamedly. "You must admit it was funny," he chuckled.

His daughter gave him another black look but didn't bother continuing with this topic of conversation. She didn't think it was funny but since Jareth seemed to be enjoying the joke, she supposed she couldn't challenge it without destroying his good humour. Sarah bent back over the map and located the two knockers.

Jareth noted the little furrow between her eyes, the way her dark brows drew together in a frown. He wasn't oblivious. He didn't see the need to apologize for himself. Why should he? But he did want to avoid a conversation fraught with too much drama. That way lay trouble. And he wanted a quiet time getting along with Sarah for a change.

"Would you like to explore?" he tempted. Hooded eyes watching the way her mobile face expressed every thought in her head.

"I thought I couldn't…"

"With me, Sarah. The Labyrinth will not work for you but it is my creation. I can show you anything you want."

"Your creation?"

"Didn't you know?"

"I didn't think about it," Sarah confessed. Awed, she gazed back at the man, noting the pride in his eyes at the very mention of the Labyrinth. And she could understand it on some level; to have created something so vast and so magnificent was worthy of pride. And her grudging respect for him increased just that slight bit. Of course, a part of her mind reminded her, she had won against its wiles.

She sat up straighter at the thought, unconsciously admiring Jareth even more because she felt magnanimous enough in her triumph to risk it. "It's a great Labyrinth."

The corners of his mouth tipped up. "It's the most beautiful being in this land." He wasn't bragging; he was stating a firm belief.

"You sound like it's a live."

"It is."

"Sure." Sarah laughed until she realized that the Goblin King wasn't joking. "It's real. It's actually a living, breathing person?"

"Not a person, no. But it has feelings, likes, dislikes, thoughts, dreams, perceptions, needs. It has no actual limbs, but it has creatures to do its work for it. It cannot move, but it covers such a large amount of space that it is everywhere in the Kingdom at once."

There were certain things Sarah had taken for granted in the Underground. She had taken the entire existence of the Labyrinth as a given. Sure, it was easy to picture a talking door or fungus with eyes. But an entire Labyrinth living and breathing as she walked into it?

"Who do you think put all those obstacles in your path?" Jareth pointed out reasonably, "Not I. I appeared when I wanted. I dealt with you and Hoggle. The Labyrinth gave you the paths."

"But the peach was yours, right?"

"That, yes. I have no interest in whether you fall down a hole or have to scale a sheer cliff- theoretically, of course. Personally, I didn't want you anywhere in the Labyrinth, but she was really quite nice to you."

"She? It's a girl?"

"It's a woman," he said sternly.

Sarah thought about that. "Well," she muttered, "The Labyrinth does show the natural cleverness of a woman with all the wisdom and maturity of ages. Why would I ever imagine it was male?"

"Sarah, why do you always make assumptions?" Jareth was really enjoying himself enormously. The things that Sarah was just beginning to discover about the world she was in were things that he no longer noticed. Watching her green eyes widen at some new wonder made him see things he hadn't seen in centuries.

"Now what. What did I say this time?"

"Old?" Jareth echoed tellingly, "You just called the Labyrinth old. If she feeds off the innate life and innocence of the children that are wished away, how is she to be old? Or do you imagine a little old woman would spend her time playing tricks and games with people? She is reborn with every child, so young she does not even understand age. She won't appreciate being called old."

"But you called her a woman!"

"Like most aging things, she does… develop, in certain ways," he smirked, "Let us say she has a certain fascination for certain types of adults that dare to enter her."

Sarah shivered. It was all very wonderful but there was something so dark about all of this.

Jareth stopped amusing himself and explained it as best he could, well aware of how it appeared to those who heard it for the first time- "She is old enough to feel things, Sarah. She falls in love and she falls in hate. Just as any adult. But I can't bring adults here to my Castle. Who can have enough power to wish a sufficient number of adults into this world? Besides, adults would feel themselves being drained. Children never do. They are so unshaped that they adapt easily to the feel of the Labyrinth, to life as we live it. It had to be children. There was no other way."

"It's wrong. It has to be! Children shouldn't be used like- like batteries for a toy."

"The Labyrinth is not a toy. And the children are worth more to my kingdom than just batteries. I am insulted you even dare suggest such a thing."

It wasn't an offended stand on pride, either. The Goblin King really did look insulted. He had turned his face to stare morosely out of the window, good humour gone as he surveyed the subject of their discussion. He understood it. But Sarah? He wasn't quite sure how to explain things to her. So much in magic was pure instinct. One had to feel the rightness of it before one even considered the logical implications. Robert understood that.

"You could have just given Toby back."

"For what?"

"You offered to give him back anyway!"

Jareth looked at her and shrugged. "I haven't the luxury to give anyone back. The destruction you wrought on my kingdom is still being repaired. But that was my fault. I should have made sure you couldn't win." He didn't look very upset at his loss. "So will you come to the Labyrinth or not?"

"It feels weird," Sarah confessed.

"Why? She liked you."

"How do you know?"

The Goblin King pointed out the window. "She let you through," he said plainly, "She was soft on you. You charmed her."

Sarah looked out of the window too. And this time the Labyrinth really did look menacing and dark, winding through the land for as far as the eye could see, twisting and writhing in fantastical geometric shapes.

"She won't hurt you," her father promised, "I'm right there."

Sarah nodded slowly and offered a quick smile. "I'm not scared," she declared, "I'm just a little freaked out at the thought of the Labyrinth actually knowing who I am. It's like when a car suddenly decides to make its own decisions, isn't it?"

"Since I have never driven a car I cannot say. But I suppose you can compare the two." Jareth offered his arm with an old-fashioned bow, quirking his lips in a teasing smile.

"Trust me," Sarah told him, "It's an experience you've got to have once in your life."

"Have you ever ridden a dragon?" he countered swiftly, "Now, that is an experience!"


	13. Chapter 13

"And what did he say?"

Saxony looked up from the hypnotic sway of the girls and offered a bland shrug- "He said he didn't believe his advice would ever become obsolete. You know his insufferable pride."

Niko snapped his fingers and immediately the music stopped. The girls stopped their dancing and left, ushered away by Niko's anxious Adviser-in-Chief. The man himself came back, bowing and scraping before his King.

The Vherders were an established city of traders. They bought and sold with professional callousness. Which naturally meant that the court of the King of the Vherders held themselves as far away from the general raucous merchants as they could contrive. Silks and satins were all the rage, powders and perfumes in constant supply. They were a fair race of pale hair and pale eyes. They indulged in soft colours and soft voices.

Niko was the exception. Like Jareth and Saxony, he was one of the race known as the Gentlefolk. His past swept so far back in the mists of time that he spoke sharply of the birth of Saxony's celebrated aunt. He had been Adviser-in-Chief to the former Queen of the Vherders, was said to have been the power behind her shaky, mild-mannered throne, and when she passed on he took the crown as if it had already been decided.

No one had thought to argue the point.

Saxony had always held Niko to be a very good ally. And a good friend. For what was the use of an ally if one could not treat him as a good friend? If and when the friendship disintegrated, then the alliance could be negotiated with cold reason. But amiable compromise was just that much more enjoyable.

"He has a point," Niko said bluntly, "I don't know where he gets it, but he damned well always slides through unscathed."

"Not necessarily," Saxony challenged, "The business with Oric was handled badly. He should have known better than to let such a situation arise. By that alone my trust diminishes."

Niko waved it away with an impatient hand, his scarlet-painted mouth thinned in perpetual ill-humour. "Hang the situation with Oric. The damned girl is mad. The worlds will forget it all in a matter of months."

"He can wait that long," Saxony allowed. The Gerengh King leaned forward to pick up his cup of brandy. "Unless he is proved wrong."

"He will be," Niko said assuredly, "The market is turning. We're all learning to handle our own problems and Jareth charges too much for his services."

"A few agreements and exchanges are too high a price for a detailed solution to a worrying problem?" Saxony laughed lightly and shook his head. "You are getting old indeed, my friend, if you can convince yourself of that."

"And you are young enough to think you know everything," Niko retorted. He leaned forward, beckoning his Adviser-in-Chief forward. "Kriese, have the City gates closed and the key brought to me. Tell Beatrice that I will be late tonight."

Kriese bowed and scraped as per usual and hurried from the room, trailing a cloud of floral scents behind his ivory silk-clad back.

The private divan was deserted, now, aside from the two heads of state, and they were silent themselves for a very long time as they thought their private thoughts.

The difference between Jareth and Saxony, as Saxony liked to point out, was that Jareth was essentially a piece of merchandise. The Gerengh King had laughed about it before, and even the Goblin King had magnanimously agreed that the theory had some sense behind it, but Jareth was first and foremost met only when his skills as a thinker and a strategist were needed. His land was isolated in its own dimension, and an unwelcoming territory to boot. His people were considered uncouth and unpredictable. No one entered the Goblin Kingdom unless they had business there. And business always included Jareth. Saxony, on the other hand, conducted his business strictly through personal ambassadors and diplomatic hirelings. He approached other people as friends and acquaintances. Jareth always maintained a certain distance. Saxony wormed his way into personal lives.

"So why are you here?"

Saxony stilled for a moment and concentrated on the elaborate lace carvings in the eaves. "A certain proposition dealing with my needs and yours," he said lightly, "My country suffers drought and yours suffers hardship. We might be of mutual assistance."

The Vherder King was not stupid. And he plainly saw a plan in motion that had a few unknowns he would not be told about. That was alright in certain cases; unknowns were the factors of instability that a good merchant always took into account. But factors of instability had to be kept to a non-existent level when dealing with large numbers of other people's lives.

In his personal opinion, Jareth didn't bother about all those large numbers of other people. It made Niko think twice about asking the Goblin King for any favours.

"And why would I consider this mutual assistance?" he questioned bluntly.

Saxony held out a hand- "We're losing our positions in the dimensions, Niko. We can get back to the forefront with this. I don't know about you, but I will not charm my way into another Dross council because I am not considered important enough to merit an invitation."

"The Dross are damned madmen," Niko dismissed.

"The Dross are very rich. They are very cultured. They have vast amounts of arable land that most of us would give our eyes for. I want the Dross kneeling before me." Saxony was very emphatic about this. And he could be truthful with Niko. The other man had a very closed mouth and repeated nothing unless he was forced to. And sometimes not even then. Besides, they were as close as it was possible to be considering their respective political positions.

"You want the power."

"Is that a crime?"

Niko leaned back against the cushions and shut his eyes. "You think Jareth will help you to find this power?"

"I think he will do for me what I pay him to do."

"You take him for granted, Saxony."

"I pay well to do so."

"No, I mean you take his loyalties for granted." Niko elaborated. He waved a finger at his younger friend. "How do you know that his advice may be trusted? He is no fool, that one. And he has suffered enough of a serious blow to his pride these last few years. He still stands, but we both know the younger ones dislike to approach him."

"Everyone dislikes to approach him," Saxony pointed out, "He either demeans them or dismisses them."

"He hit a hired diplomat recently," Niko meditated. He steepled his fingers in front of his bearded face and narrowed his almond-shaped eyes. The effect was rather disconcerting; most compared it to a look of feline contemplation. And felines- amongst most of the foremost races- were greeted with vague shivers of fascinated unease.

"Did he? How wonderful. We haven't had a proper fight for many years now. Not since Greville."

"Greville was a damned idiot."

Saxony began to smile. And then he began to laugh. And then he disclosed the delectable bit of gossip he had recently gleaned straight from the Goblin King himself. He shared a private smile with himself at the thought of what else Jareth had told him, but had the grace to keep his word. After all, if one couldn't trust his word, he could lose a lot of business.

Niko growled about it. Expressed his opinion at considerable length that Greville had not only been an idiot but had been immoral as well and that Greville and Oric had been just as mad as each other and therefore well suited. He ended his diatribe with the confident declaration that the whole lot of them would bring the worlds to a very sticky end.

"Damned fool manipulators," he grumbled, "Can't trust a Cherisse man or an Allorn woman."

His companion laughed into his own beard. "Or," he relished, "An Allorn man and a Cherisse woman." He was clearly enjoying himself.

"Fierdos in Paradise," the King of the Vherders intoned piously.

Saxony obligingly made the right sign in the presence of the other's religious deity of choice and then sipped on his brandy with the mournful air of one whose drink was coming to an end. His was, and he did mourn it. In fact, he considered asking for more but discarded it as impolite. Especially since his host was clearly ready for bed.

His host wasn't just ready for bed, but his Queen was too.

Beatrice came to the room and tapped her foot impatiently against the carpeted floor. Her heavy features were clearly set in a mask of disapproval.

Niko hurriedly made his apologies and rose to his feet. He stretched, reluctantly murmured the polite necessities and gratiatingly took his wife's arm. The doting smile of apology on his face was enough to appease the lady, however, for she softened somewhat as she led him away.

Saxony elected to stay where he was for a time and when Kriese came back with the key to the City gates, he imperiously agreed to the soft invitation to have another brandy. Kriese made his excuses and left, scurrying along with the famous key clutched tight in a twitching hand.

The King of the Gerengh lay back against his cushions and relaxed into the quiet. Niko was always worth the long journey between the world of the Gerengh and the Vherders. Saxony liked the air, the smells, the hustle and bustle, the honest accumulation of luxury items. Saxony even liked Beatrice. As far as the Gentlefolk went, Niko was the only one yet to have married one of his own subjects. Saxony didn't delude himself into believing that it was political.

The first marriage- yes; that could be excused when the marriage was conducted with haste as the outsider took the throne. The second marriage- no. Why anyone would choose to marry into the Vherders was a mystery to any but those who did indeed marry into the Vherders. Niko was not an unhandsome person, and his honesty- while brutal- might be excused for his equally brutal fairness. He could have done better.

And yet he had married Beatrice lyn Conve with all the pomp and splendour of a man besotted.

From what Saxony had seen, the pomp and splendour had not been an act. Niko really did love his wife. In all her plump, heavy-set, straightforward ways, something had captured the Vherder King's attention. Saxony didn't know what it was. He saw nothing particularly appealing about the lady, much as he liked her.

On the other hand…

On the other hand, he didn't know why he always set such store by good looks. Fate itself knew that good looks could not guarantee a good heart. And the difference between a wonderful marriage and a messy mistake lay in the heart. Saxony agreed to it. But he refused to acknowledge that he was being unreasonable to hope that he would meet such a good heart in the breast of another who could satisfy his liking for beautiful things.

Of course, he had to be careful not to go too far. Just see how that business with Jareth had turned out, he told himself sternly. As beautiful as they came. A Peshawa was a scandalous person for a King to take as his permanent mate, but Jareth hadn't given it much thought. Until the gossip began. And the problems began. And the then the final scandal right at the end.

For around seventy years before the birth of that first child, all the known worlds had held their breath waiting for Jareth's cold reason to give out and his furious temper to break its bounds. Oh, they'd seen hints here and there. The Goblin King had publicly threatened Vernon not too long before Sarah's birth on the grounds that his mate was being harassed. The Goblin King had also forcibly confiscated an entire cartel of Peshawa slaves from a Vraul importer and had the Vraul thrown into one of his many obliettes. Why? No one knew the real story there, but the general consensus was that his mate had had something to do with it.

Saxony didn't like to think he might end up as such. He had no intentions of ever being so influenced by someone else.

But then again, Jareth was an entirely different person. Everyone knew that the colder the appearances, the more fiery the core. And somehow Robert had manoeuvred his way under Jareth's cold appearance and fired up that dormant core. The Goblin King had never been the same since.

More importantly, his reputation had never been the same since.

No one said anything, of course, because everyone knew better than to challenge such an important figure that could be of such advantage. But they thought things.

They gave Jareth the benefit of the doubt, naturally. Robert had been cast out and almost disowned and he was known to be trouble by most of those who made it their business to find out another's weaknesses. Jareth had just had to deal with an unstable character, naturally. Robert must have influenced him unduly because the Goblin King was capable of emotions and the iigawa must have played a deadly game indeed to turn his brain so terribly.

The one thing that Saxony couldn't forget about the entire situation was that Jareth would not be the first person to be captured by the look of a pretty face. If Niko could dote upon his plain, merchant wife- a woman whose idea of polite conversation was to ask you where and when you had bought the precious stones for the jewellery you were wearing- then it was entirely possible that Jareth could simply have lost his head over a high born peshawa. A Prince in his own right, if the peshawa were to ever think in terms of royalty.

And Sarah.

Sarah, if Saxony was not mistaken, was an Aboveground perversion of the word 'Serath'- 'Princess'. Robert had chosen that name well. For she was such amongst the goblins and even as a peshawa, she would always be the first-born, daughter of the Goblin King.

She certainly did Jareth credit, he mused. She was really quite lovely.


	14. Chapter 14

Robert shut his eyes and hoped fervently that the crystal in his office was just a figment of his imagination. The hustle and bustle of work continued around him, but he felt a now-familiar stab of worry. If someone was to walk up to his desk- anyone at all- they would see the crystal, and they would ask questions.

They couldn't help but ask questions!

He was too nice, too easy to talk to. Everyone eventually poked their noses cheerfully into his business. He kept most of it private with an effort but there were certain things he couldn't explain.

And the crystal was one of them!

"Rob? Rob, you okay?"

Robert opened his eyes with a start and offered a composed smile. "Yeah. I was just trying to remember something. You know Karen; she asked me to pick something up and I can't remember what the hell it is."

"In one ear and out the other, eh?" The other man laughed heartily, friendly eyes crinkling at the corners. "I know just what you mean. My Laura's like that. Women! Crazy lot!"

Robert nodded, said something vaguely agreeable and shuffled files on his desk with the sole purpose to find the one he needed to work on as soon as possible. He slammed a pile down on top of the crystal, hoping it would break, knowing it wouldn't, and not surprised when it simply rolled out and somehow settled defiantly right on top of the pile.

Just like Jareth, Robert thought bitterly, just didn't take a hint.

Sighing to himself he picked it up, shoved it into his pocket and made some excuses about a family matter and could someone tell Noelle that he'd had to leave for a few hours.

Once outside, he got calmly into his car, turned on the engine, and went home. Karen wouldn't be home. Toby would be at school. He got out of the car, unlocked the door, walked in and closed it behind him.

Lifting his hand from the handle, he felt the back of his neck prickle. The Peshawa knew that feeling. Without thinking he turned around and made the old gesture of obeisance- hands lightly together and rising from heart to lips to forehead, bow slightly and keep the eyes respectfully lowered. Robert had been born and bred to perform all his actions with particular grace; this one had been drilled into him with even more fervour.

The Goblin King raised an eyebrow in surprise. But he didn't say anything. Whether it was perversity or sympathy, he chose not to answer that gesture, or even notice that Robert had straightened with a soft gasp and a stricken look in his green eyes.

"Did you get my message?" he asked bluntly.

Robert swallowed. Jareth looked impatient, but his attention was elsewhere, just as it always was. He cleared his throat to answer. "Yes."

Jareth was having a hard time not laughing. He put down the porcelain vase he was examining and nodded curtly. "I thought you should know," he said, "Sarah shows a remarkable aptitude for the role in which she was intended. She has presence and dignity. She speaks fluidly and presents her thoughts clearly. A little too full of questions, though."

Robert smiled. He couldn't help it! He had a sudden vision in his head of his little girl at the zoo, asking him all manner of questions about everything she could see. Linda had been there with them, wiping Sarah's sticky hands and telling her made-up fairytales about the animals she was most interested in.

Jareth smiled as well, recognizing the soft memory even if he couldn't share it. "I take it she always is."

Robert shook his head ruefully. "Since she could talk she asked questions. Everything from does the sky have a roof to whether it really meant anything if she scored an 'A' on a test! Everything! Sarah always has a question; she always wants to know."

"Not a bad thing," Jareth suggested, thinking it through, "If she questions the validity of a test score, she obviously isn't the type of person to agree with the conventions. And if she wants to know about the sky, she has a limitless capacity for learning. I like it."

Robert sighed. "Would you like something to drink?" he offered.

"Anything you recommend for this time of the morning," Jareth shrugged.

"Sure. Please, sit. I'll be back in a minute."

Jareth watched the figure of the man exit the room with narrowed eyes. Something he'd said had made Robert lose his good humour. Not, in itself, something that made Jareth worry. Robert wasn't his problem any more beyond the past they had shared. But Jareth had to admit that he preferred Robert in a good mood. He didn't really want to see the peshawa upset. If for no other reason than that they did share that past.

So he followed him, leaning against the doorframe and watching as the man poured out a glass of something orange for him. He wrinkled his nose at the stuff but was reassured when Robert kept a glass for himself.

"What is it?" he asked, eyeing it.

"Orange juice," Robert supplied, "It's safe, I promise."

Jareth sipped and it wasn't too bad. Quite tart, but not too bad. He took the seat at the table that Robert offered.

"We always have something in the house. Toby brings his friends home quite a bit. And at the age of ten, they're always hungry. Karen always feeds them." Robert thought of his wife and wondered just how long he would get to spend time with her, and his son. It didn't feel long. It wouldn't last another year or so.

"Something troubles you?" Jareth asked delicately, trying not to intrude into the quiet, but curious. Softly, he told himself, or Robert would be startled from his rare frankness.

"No. No, nothing." Robert straightened up in determination and pushed that weakness aside. "We were talking about Sarah."

Jareth cocked his head and blinked slowly. "I said something to upset you," he remarked, "What was it?"

"Don't be stupid. You didn't say anything."

"Truina…"

"Don't call me that!"

Jareth just looked at him.

And Robert wanted to tell him, so badly. What harm would it do anyway? It might even help. After all, if he had suspicions right at the outset, it was best to clear them up instantly, right? Right. Of course. "I only wonder how much you want Sarah for herself," he stressed, "I'm not suggesting that you don't care for her. But I think that you focus too much on what you want her to be, rather than what she is. If it's true then we have a problem."

"Are you accusing me of using my own daughter?" Jareth's voice was dark with foreboding.

This, then, was why Robert hadn't wanted to let himself tell Jareth. But he had said it. And so he had to see it through. "No, not using her exactly," he said cautiously, "Just forgetting to really spend time with her."

"How dare you."

"Jareth, I'm not trying to say anything…"

"You always do this! I've had more than I can take, Robert, and now you go too far." Jareth was angry. He knew it was stupid, but that only made him angrier. "What in all the worlds have I ever done to you?"

"I? All I said was…"

"Silence!"

Mutinously his mouth shut and Robert couldn't force himself to say a word more. Not with that look in Jareth's eyes and that white line around his thinned lips.

The Goblin King traced the helpless worry in that unremarkable face, sought out the masked features that he had used to know so well. And he was unbearably tired of the Peshawa. Wanted to be rid of him. Disliked him, in fact, intensely in that moment. Despised himself for wasting so many years of his life searching for someone he disliked.

"Listen to me very carefully for I will only say this once," he began, "I do not know what impression you have of me, but I would never hurt my own daughter. You've done enough to keep her from me. You stole her away when she was a baby. You brought her up among this- this filth, with another woman to replace me. I was never allowed to see her grow, to hear her learn to speak or watch her learn to dance. I wasn't there when she discovered fairytales and boys. I don't know what her favourite pastime is; I don't know what she thinks about chocolate. I don't know what colours she wears and I don't know how she sleeps at night. The first time I saw my daughter was when she stared at me in fear and loathing, begging me to give back her baby brother."

Robert winced in sympathy.

Jareth wasn't done with him. "She knows nothing of her heritage. She knows nothing of the ways of her people, either on your side or mine. You have kept from her everything that was her birthright. And now, when I seek to give it back to her, you attempt to take her from me again."

"No!" Robert covered his mouth with his hand and looked guilty for speaking out of turn.

Jareth tapped a long finger on the table. "No?" he echoed, "Surprise me. Tell me what you really meant."

"All I'm asking is for you to be careful with her," Robert pleaded, the words rushing out now that he had permission to speak, "I'm sorry that you think I'm interfering but I have only ever done what I thought was right."

"You were never meant to think," Jareth scoffed.

The words burned. Robert paled at that matter-of-fact dismissal, biting his tongue to keep the pain at bay. Of all the people to say such a thing, it rankled the most when Jareth said it. The last time, Robert had run away from him, taking Sarah with him. Now there was nowhere to run and Jareth had just repeated the very words that always struck him harder than any blow ever could.

The Goblin King didn't see a need to apologize for the agonized hurt in those green eyes. He was furious himself and he was lashing out.

"I think you should go," Robert said. His voice was soft, almost too soft. Nothing near to decisive. More like a plea.

"I haven't finished what I came to say," Jareth bit out, "Sit down, Robert, I am not done with you."

The Peshawa stayed still, hands on the table and eyes gazing at his hands, head lowered in meek dejection.

"Sarah knows nothing about her life, as I have said. She didn't even know what luring was. A tragic state of affairs I think you'll agree. I can't make a judgement on whether she is fit to rule without seeing her in the proper setting. Hiding her away from the rest of the world will never show her in her real capacity. I need to introduce her."

Robert looked up quickly.

The Goblin King held up an impatient hand. "Spare me your protests. I know it is dangerous. But she is under my protection. And I have a vast deal of power behind me. If anyone harms her, they know they will face me."

"That won't change any harm that comes to her," Robert said timidly, constrained to speak only because this was Sarah's life at stake.

"Once again you think the worst of me."

"No, no! You'll keep her safe, I know you will. But there are so many things that can happen. And it will only take a few minutes to hurt her unbearably. Once she loses her innocence there's no getting it back, Jareth. You know that. Sarah's strong but she needs a strong protector."

"Am I not strong enough?"

Robert bit his lip. "Forgive me, but- but you're her father. You can't be there for her twenty-six hours of the day. It's why no Peshawa is let out of Naigur Brenth before they prove they can control themselves."

"Naigur Brenth is a whorehouse, Robert, so never tell me to send my daughter there."

The Peshawa coloured. "I went there."

"And there are actually names given to certain of those techniques I have felt you practise firsthand," Jareth said snidely, "My daughter will not go to a well-known brothel just to learn about her urges. I forbid it."

Robert had a headache. He always got one dealing with Jareth. At least, it hadn't been so bad in the beginning. Before Jareth had encouraged him to argue! After that… things became far too difficult. Jareth encouraged him to speak out, and then dismissed him every time his opinion differed! And now Robert couldn't change. He couldn't let go of a freedom once he'd tasted it. "Then what do you suggest?"

"I can introduce her into society. I can teach her my ways, the culture she will have to live in if she is to become the Queen of the Goblins. Hoggle can show her the lands; she seems to like spending time with him. I can show her the Labyrinth, perhaps test her natural abilities to do magic. She does have a feel for it. Certain things she does indicate it. But I can't teach her how to be a Peshawa."

Robert got a very bad feeling about this- "You aren't going to send her back to the clan, are you?"

Jareth cast him a withering glance. "Am I that stupid?"

Robert wisely said nothing.

"No. Besides, she is too old to learn it in that way. Already passed her coming-of-age and already an adult. Hmmm… a private tutor. Will Nila be interested, I wonder?" Jareth tugged abstractedly on a lock of hair that insisted on falling over into his eyes.

Robert knew that lock of hair. It always fell into Jareth's eyes. Even when he slept that lock of hair would somehow managed to cling to the lashes on his right eye. When he lowered his head to write, the lock of hair would get in the way. Robert had sometimes obligingly tucked it up behind an ear, but it always fell over again. And since it always annoyed Jareth even when that happened, Robert had learned to leave it be.

"I thought Nila was expecting," Robert put forth carefully.

"Oh, yes. I had forgotten." Jareth frowned in perplexity. "Nila will not do at all. He won't let her go now." He thought for a few more minutes, sipping on his orange juice. "I could postpone the entire thing. Neither Sarah nor I are going anywhere. And she could spend a little more time acclimatizing for the Underground before beginning her training."

Robert nodded distractedly and looked at his watch. He didn't dare say anything, however.

And then mismatched eyes looked up and lit on the Peshawa's face and Jareth suddenly began to smile. "Robert," he smirked, satisfied.

Robert knew that look. And he had another bad feeling about this. "No," he insisted, "I am not going back to the Underground. I am not announcing myself as returned. I will not have anything more to do with you or your crazy friends. And moreover I've got a life right here that needs me to stay on Earth. Toby and Karen and… my job…"

Jareth was just looking at him, eyebrow raised enquiringly and his strong chin lifted in challenge.

Robert shook his head. "No. I don't like this business and I won't be involved."

"Robert, I would prefer it if I didn't have to force the issue," Jareth warned, "But I will if I have to."

"You wouldn't!"

"I would. And you know it."

Robert did know it. He'd felt it the last time Jareth had forced the issue. "Jareth, if I come back people will assume things."

"What things?"

"The fact that I'm actually back for good? I'm not going back with you. I have Toby and Karen."

"You have a marriage that is falling apart and a son who rarely sees you."

"How do you…"

"Sarah mentioned a few things."

"You fucking bastard."

"Once again, my dear, only when you force me to be nasty."

"You think I'm just going to say yes?" Robert got up and strode to the door. "I'm going back to work. Show yourself out, okay? I'm done with all of your mad schemes. And if Sarah knew any better, she would too."

He locked the front door behind him and got quickly into the car, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other even though he was terrified. And he started up the engine because he knew he needed to leave the house as soon as possible. If he left Jareth behind, he talk the courage into himself. But he needed time. He needed to get his thoughts sorted.

The sheer callousness of the Goblin King!

"Sarah did tell me I had to take a ride in one of these," Jareth said complaisantly, "For my part, I can't see the fascination."

Robert pulled up to the side of the road in desperation. "I have to get to work," he replied, "Get out!"

"I have prior claim on your time, Robert. That is the rule between us, isn't it? If I permit you to have a life beyond my household, you may have one on the condition that my needs are not interfered with. Give me my answer and I will let you go."

"No," Robert snapped, "I'm not playing your games any longer. And now I'll thank you to get out of my car."

Jareth leaned forward, a look of serious contemplation on his sharp face. "You know," he murmured, "You really have now forced me to be unpleasant."


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: Yeah, I'm back. Sorry about my long absence but I was away on vacation. I did no writing at all for a month so I'm trying to catch up as fast as I can. Hopefully, this hasn't lost anything in the wait.

--------------------------------------

"Karen, honey, please try to understand," Robert pleaded, "I can't say no to this. Noelle was very insistent."

Karen still wouldn't lift her face from her hands.

"Karen."

Her fair head stayed on the table. Apart from the twitch of her manicured fingers, Robert would have suspected that she was asleep. As it was, her breath was evenly spaced and deep. Perfectly relaxed. Every muscle in repose, not a blond hair out of place.

Karen liked to keep an immaculate house, and an immaculate person.

She also liked immaculate relationships.

Robert wished she would say something; the silence was eating him alive and if it weren't for the thought that he wanted it sorted as soon as possible, he would have left it there and recklessly gone back on his word. As it was he only wanted to forget the entire situation and go back to his usual humdrum life.

"Will you please say something?"

Karen lifted her head but only to look at the clock. "Toby will be coming home soon," she commented, "Can we talk about this afterwards?"

Robert nodded.

For the next ten minutes he watched his wife get on with the busy task of tidying and straightening: pick up this; put away that. Karen tied an apron around her waist and took a casserole out of the freezer. She couldn't have any accidents with frozen food and her clothes. Not the expensive business clothing she spent her days in.

Toby came home by six, blinking wide blue eyes earnestly behind thick glasses, a bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder. He stomped in, shot off a rapid fire of news and then stomped up the stairs.

For a quiet child, he spoke a lot.

Robert left the kitchen, rubbing at the tension pounding behind his temples.

"Toby; Robert!"

"Coming, Mom."

Robert didn't want to be there. But Jareth had at least given him the chance to explain things as best he could. The best he could do was to concoct a satisfactory tale. One that Karen would hopefully believe. Else she would leave immediately and take Toby with her. And Robert wasn't ready to let go of his Aboveground family as yet. Not until Toby was twenty. Hopefully not even then.

"Robert, are you joining us?" Karen managed to keep her voice admirably steady.

Toby made a face. "Are you fighting again?" he asked bluntly.

"What makes you say that?" Robert asked, raising an eyebrow as he took a seat at the table.

"Mom calls you Robbie when she likes you," Toby observed.

Green eyes sparkled briefly at the artless honesty. "Good call," his father said gravely, stifling the urge to grin, "Your mother isn't very happy with me at the moment. But we're not fighting."

"Well, if you were fighting, you wouldn't tell me, would you? Jimmy's parents told him everything was okay too, and now Jimmy's parents are separated."

"Eat your food, Tobias James Williams," Karen snapped, prodding him gently in the arm, "And don't talk so much. If your father says we're not fighting, you don't argue with him."

"But I was only asking!"

"No, you were talking too much. Now eat."

"Yes, Mom."

There was peace for a few minutes, during which Robert tried to think of ways to putting his impending absence in a good light. Karen didn't see it as such, but he hoped there was a way to bring a glimmer of a smile back to those blue eyes.

And speaking of blue eyes… Toby peeked up inquisitively from over the lip of his glass. "Did you say something bad to Mom?" he demanded.

Both adults glared at him and chose not to answer.

"Dad," Toby persisted, completely unfazed, "Did you say something wrong?"

"No, I didn't."

"Eat, Toby."

"I am," he muttered, sitting back with a huff. For a few more minutes he stayed silent, this time studying the both of them with an identical look of curiosity for both. His mother could not be bribed. His father, on the other hand, was a pushover. Toby was aware that if he pushed hard enough or long enough, his Dad would give in.

"Toby, if I have to tell you to eat one more time," Karen threatened, "It will be the worse for you."

"Yes, Mom. Dad?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Karen sighed. Children! She was glad she only had Toby or she might just go mad. And Robert never ever took any initiative in disciplining Toby. She had to do it all herself! And she was getting tired of always being the bad guy.

"But I wanted to ask Dad something," he protested, wiping his mouthwith the back of his hand, "You keep telling me to eat when I try to talk! Stands to reason my mouth'll be full, right?"

Robert's mouth twitched. His son really was a handful. He put his fork down and nodded. "What do you want to tell me?"

Karen sighed again and shook her head.

"Why isn't Mom happy?"

"Toby!"

"What?"

"This isn't anything to do with you. If you don't want to eat anymore, you can go to your room and do your homework."

"But I'm eating."

"Then eat and don't talk so much."

"But I asked Dad something."

Robert lifted a hand up to stop Karen from continuing on such a fruitless task. Evidently Toby would not be placated with evasive action. "Whatever your mother and I say to each other is private, Toby. It's not polite to ask questions like that."

"I don't want you to be like Jimmy's parents." Jimmy's parents had evidently made an impression on the ten-year-old.

Robert shared a look with Karen. She wasn't happy about him going, but to be quite truthful, she couldn't refuse to let him go on a business trip. "I have to go away on work for a few weeks."

Toby's face fell even further. "That's what Jimmy's dad said too," he muttered.

Robert had a hard time explaining that it wasn't anything to do with Jimmy's dad; he was going to leave for a few weeks because his office wanted him to meet with some other men who worked in the same way and they wanted him to compare ideas and study a few new things. It wouldn't take very long, Robert explained, just three weeks. He would call whenever he could and he might even write a few times.

Karen didn't say anything very much. She only ate quietly and then took the plates away when it appeared that the meal was over. She busied herself with washing up while Toby asked all manner of questions about Robert's intended trip away and then sat down with the telephone bill and wrote out a cheque.

"Karen, are you done?"

"Almost." She didn't look up until the last 't' was crossed and the last 'i' dotted. "Done. Now about this trip."

"It's only for a few weeks," Robert pointed out reasonably, "I'll come back after that."

"You promised to spend a little more time with us. You said you would. And then you get a business meeting."

"I can't help it, honey. I was only told this morning."

"Then you should have refused," she hissed, keeping her voice down because she wanted to shout but couldn't afford to do it with her son in the house. Bad enough he knew there were tensions; worse if he were to start imagining that his parents were splitting. "You know we're having problems and you pick now of all times to leave. I can't say I'm happy."

"I can see you're not. Believe me, if I had a choice I wouldn't go. But I don't have a choice."

She snorted derisively. "You always have a choice. You just can't stand up for yourself. I don't know if it's because we're just not important or because you don't know how to say no, but everyone else comes before your family."

"No! No one else. I promise." Robert wished to heaven that he knew how to resolve such differences. It wasn't that everyone else was more important, just that he kept getting caught by other people. He loved his family, but it was difficult to say no. Especially when people needed his help. And Karen couldn't understand it. She kept telling him that he had to have some pride in himself, some spine.

"I'm supposed to believe you." Karen eyed him dispassionately.

Robert was struck by a very startling thought- "We really are like Jimmy's parents, aren't we?"

Karen blinked in surprise, caught off guard. Robert looked so awe-struck, so completely amazed at his sudden discovery. And the subject itself was such a delicate one, such a lowering one. And he said it with such innocence! She giggled, unable to help herself.

Robert chuckled too, gladdened to see the girl he had married emerge from the heavily lacquered woman.

"It's only a few weeks," he soothed, "And I promise that the minute I get back, we'll start thinking of a vacation. Just the three of us."

Karen perked up immediately. "What about Sarah? You have to ask her. It isn't right to just leave her alone."

"Sarah is doing a lot of out of town assignments now. If she'd like to come," Robert said guardedly, "I suppose we could ask her. But I won't hold my breath."

"I'd like Sarah to come."

Robert frowned in enquiry.

Karen leaned forward. "She can take Toby off our hands a little. Just enough to spend some time together?"

"Some time together. I like that." He looked dismayed a moment later. "I'm going to have to talk, aren't I?"

"You'd better. Or I won't be here when you get home."

"I'll say anything."

She smiled again and reached out to touch his cheek. "I really don't like this trip," she said honestly, "But if you promise tobehave when you get back, I won't be difficult."

Robert nodded and was contented with that.

Three days later, he drove out of town and got out in a familiar cobble-stone courtyard.

Jareth and Sarah were there, waiting for him.

His daughter threw her arms around him and planted a resounding kiss on his cheek. "I can't believe it," she gushed, "When Jareth told me I was convinced he was joking. And you brought the car?"

"I had to drive away, didn't I?" Robert argued, "Can you imagine Karen's face if I said I was walking the whole way?"

Sarah laughed and let go of him when Jareth gave a discreet sound behind her. Then she stepped back very quickly and looked astonishingly interested in the stone fountain, mossy gargoyle and all. From the little she heard, the two were conversing in Peshan, Robert didn't sound very happy about something, and Jareth was being implacably expressionless.

She predicted trouble before the visit was over.


	16. Chapter 16

"I am not changing," the Peshawa said.

"You are being stubborn about nothing," Jareth pointed out, "I will not have you wandering around here as a mortal. You are in my Castle and you will revert to the way I want you."

"I won't do it. This is the way I look now and I'll stick to it. Besides, you don't need me to be Robert, you just need an iiga to teach Sarah about her heritage. I can do that perfectly well in this guise."

"Robert?"

Robert shook his head wordlessly.

Jareth watched him for a minute and then sighed, ceding the point to keep the peace. The argument could always continue later if need be, and he had already pushed Robert far enough for the moment. Robert was already stiff and tense, poised as if to run away, those disturbingly bright green eyes fixed unwaveringly on Jareth's face.

The Goblin King turned back to Sarah with a half smile. "I am going to leave the two of you alone to talk now. There is some work that needs my attention."

He gave a small nod to the both of them and left the courtyard by the little door that kept it separated from the rest of the Castle. The pleasant mask dropping away to reveal the irritation beneath, Jareth caught a hold of a passing servant and gave it a few instructions. It turned out to be one of the foolish ones, for which his temper did not improve.

Robert relaxed the moment that door closed and then took the chance to look around.

Nothing had changed.

Not a stone, not a leaf, not a blind at the window. The trees still surrounded the walls, reaching high into the sky and filtering the sunlight to glowing fingers that touched the water-streaked stone fountain and dappled the worn stone cobbles. The courtyard was still silent, with just the murmur of the air in the trees as a soothing background. Even the water still rippled with the occasional microscopic water creature.

"It's, um, a nice fountain."

"Is it? It always looked hideous to me," Robert shrugged. He looked around again. "He kept it the same. Ai, Lathos, if there was ever a more infuriating person."

"Lathos?"

"Water God. Remind me to begin teaching you our religion tomorrow."

"I thought you didn't follow the iigawa religion any more," Sarah questioned, "Why do I have to know about it?"

"How much has Jareth told you," Robert asked, unlocking the trunk of his car and taking out his suitcase, "He did explain things to you?"

"Of course! He said he wanted me to meet some of his friends, and get to know a little bit about the Underground," Sarah said happily, "He went off on one of his silent tirades about how little I know."

"Silent tirades?"

"You know; he looks at you and you can just hear him pitying you for not really knowing what he's talking about. He doesn't say it, but you can hear it. Hasn't he ever done that to you?"

Robert glared at her. "I lived with him for fifty years. I should think he did."

"Fifty?" Sarah felt her jaw drop. "You never told me it was fifty! How was it fifty? Really fifty?"

"Give or take a few years," Robert admitted, "I don't like to talk about it." He shivered at the sight of the door but squared his shoulders and marched in.

Even the rooms were the same! It was as if no one had moved a pin since he had left!

"He's doing this deliberately," Robert remarked, more to himself than anyone else, "I just know he is. That bloodsucking leech is trying to send me mad."

"Dad?"

"Come in, Sarah. You might as well help me here."

He put the case down and thought about it. "The couch," he decided, "Help me move it to that side."

"Okay. But why?"

"I hate the way the room looks," Robert said tersely, "Got a hold? Alright. Up!"

The scroll-end lounge went under the long window, the couch went along one wall and the small table was put by the lounge. The paintings were taken off the wall and summarily left by the door. "To be taken away," Robert decided.

Sarah thought it was all a bit extreme but she supposed her father knew what he was doing. Though why he was even changing the look of the place, she couldn't understand.

"It's to do with our beliefs," he panted, "We believe that each stage must be signified by a change. When we change, it is usually with a- no, don't take that away, leave it on the table- with a proper reason."

Sarah put down the tiny jewelled carving and digested this new piece of information. "So you're changing the room because…?"

"Because I am not who I was when I was staying here last." The man stood back and glanced critically around his handiwork. "I don't like those curtains. Help me get them off."

He knew he should have distrusted his former mate. Jareth would have known; he was sure of it! And had deliberately given him the rooms he had wilfully kept unchanged for twenty-five years. Robert was angry about it. But that was Jareth's way. He just had to be annoying. The more he proved he could manipulate someone, the more satisfaction he got from doing it.

"Alright. That will do for now." He took his case inside and realized that it wasn't, in fact, over. "Herol preserve us, he is trying to drive me mad!"

"What? What's wrong now?"

Sarah peeped into the room and raised an eyebrow in surprise.

The room was very bare. Devoid of colour and ornament and furniture beyond the simple bed that seemed almost to grow right from the ground in the middle of the room. Like Jareth's own, this was carved from one single piece of wood. And evidently needed to be pruned every few weeks for there were still tendrils of creepers winding their slow way up the posts and and a small overhang on the crown. A few tendrils even trailed on the floor, dark green and glossy-leaved.

Robert threw his case on the floor and tightened his lips. There was little he could change in this room beyond the bed- a priceless antique that could only be changed by ruining it- and the plant that graced it. He couldn't take away a carpet or remove a couch. There weren't even curtains that could be taken down for the windows were like most of the windows in the rest of the Castle.

"I'm going to have to have a talk with him," was all Robert would say on the subject.

Jareth had a few words himself to say when Robert turned up in his study. The Goblin King almost cringed at the sight of the jeans and t-shirt.

"I forbid it," he ordered.

"Stuff it," Robert returned bracingly, "How dare you keep my rooms in that condition! You knew perfectly well that you were supposed to have changed them the moment you knew I wasn't coming back permanently. If you had the least consideration you would have done it."

"You haven't followed your own creed for years," Jareth said silkily, "Why must I be expected to remember it?"

"You are just being facetious. I don't follow it on earth because the humans wouldn't understand! I am still a Peshawa and I still follow their customs. Even if I did not, the polite thing to do would be to have the rooms changed."

"Robert, you know very well that all my guests are at liberty to change their room or furniture whenever they desire." The Goblin King leaned back in his seat. "You could have just asked for a different room."

The Peshawa ground his teeth and had to accept that he could have. It was a custom amongst the goblins to be so open. The Castle at the Centre of the Labyrinth was at its guests' disposal. Troy would have given him another room without batting an eyelash.

Sarah kept well out of it, knowing both her father's temper and Jareth's ill-humour. She would have warned Robert that challenging Jareth would only put the Goblin King's hackles up but figured that he probably did know it. And would do it anyway because that was the way he did things. She decided that the best thing for her would be to stay out of the Castle as far as possible.

So she went to find Hoggle.

The dwarf was smoking his pipe outside of his cottage, the remains of a meal on the table inside. His frown deepened when he saw his guest, but Sarah didn't take it at face value.

"Hi, Hoggle," she greeted, "Are you busy?"

"No. Just thinking."

"Oh? About what?"

"Nothing. Or can'ts I think any more without Your Highness's permission?" Hoggle grumbled.

"You can think all you want Hoggle," Sarah giggled, "I won't stop you." She folded up her skirt and flopped down in the grass, falling backwards to stare up at the thatched roof. Hoggle looked really quite funny upside down but she wasn't the kind of girl to laugh at someone else. And however Hoggle looked, he had been a good friend to her in his own way. "My Dad came to the Underground this morning."

The dwarf almost swallowed his pipe. He choked, thumping his chest to get the smoke that had gone down the wrong way, his eyes streaming. "Y- yer sure?"

"What's wrong with that?" Sarah demanded, sitting up straight in concern.

"Nothing." Hoggle didn't have the heart to make those pretty green eyes look upset. He didn't like it when Sarah got upset. Keeping her happy was a good thing. He tended to do silly things for her when she got upset.

"No, Hoggle, what? Why is it such a big deal? My Dad came down and…"

Hoggle choked again.

Sarah threw up her hands and glared at him.

"Yer Dad is… well, it's all… just a shock, if yer know what I mean," Hoggle stammered, "Because of him running away and Jareth obsessed with finding him… Aw, don't ask me, Sarah. I ain't the right one to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"Well, you knows."

"No, I don't. Tell me what."

Watery blue eyes blinked rapidly. "Er, with the Goblin King, and- and his mate… it ain't so plain sailing, right? And well, your Dad left. And Jareth, he looked for him everywhere, he did, offered a lot of money to anyone who could finds him. And then he just comes back? Like nothing ever happened?"

"Jareth asked him to," Sarah protested, "He's going to help me learn about the Underground and about my clan. What's wrong with that?"

Some doubt seemed to have cleared up. "Oh, that's it, is it? He's not stayings here, right?"

"He's not going to live here for the rest of his life, no. Is that what you thought?"

Hoggle excused himself with a cough.

Sarah picked up the pipe and looked it over while Hoggle waddled around inside, ostensibly putting his things away and really trying to hide his embarrassment. It was good to know that Hoggle had just mistaken the matter. But it worried her that everyone else might react this way. None of the goblins had said anything and they had known about the impending visit for days, now. But maybe they thought the same? That Robert was back in the Underground for good?

Sarah hoped not. She wouldn't want to see that happen. If only because Robert had family on Earth. He had a wife and a ten-year-old son. Karen would probably get over it but Toby was just a kid and he didn't deserve to miss out on a Dad just because his Dad was from another dimension.

She proposed to have a talk with Jareth, to see what the Goblin King was really planning. Because experience told her that he was never quite as nice as he seemed.


	17. Chapter 17

"Sarah, wake up."

The girl came awake with a start, grasping at the bedclothes in her shock.

Robert hid a grin and gravely calmed her down. "Get dressed," he whispered, "And hurry. We only have a few minutes."

He thrust a dress and a pair of leggings at her and disappeared out of the room.

Sarah yawned in bemusement and stared from the clothes draped across her lap to the window where the dark of predawn was still just beginning. It was, she noted, far too early.

But Robert had sounded quite urgent. And whatever it was, he sounded very serious. Who knew but that he needed her help for something important.

Had Jareth tried something?

Sarah straightened up, remembering her concerns from the day before. She threw the covers off and grabbed at her clothes. Jareth might have tried something. After all, Hoggle had been quite explicit about how much the Goblin King had hated losing his Peshawa. Seeing how angry he had been at losing one those children wished to him, she could imagine that he didn't like losing any of 'his possessions'.

He might have tricked them both. Used Sarah to get Robert down to the Underground and maybe he had tried to… do something. Sarah's brain shied away from vocalizing that fear.

But then again, Robert wouldn't come to her if there was a problem with Jareth. What could she do? She was even more powerless against the Goblin King than he was. At least Robert knew enough about himself to find ways around his disadvantages. Sarah would just be caught completely off-guard.

She stumbled her way into the leggings and sank down on the bed to deal with her shoes.

So perhaps it wasn't Jareth. Unless he had tried something and Robert was simply leaving, like he had the last time he'd been at the Castle at the Centre of the Labyrinth. But Jareth seemed to dislike Robert quite as much as Robert disliked him. A sad state of affairs and she wished they would both at least try not to glare daggers at each other, but that meant that Jareth wouldn't actually be trying to get Robert to stay.

Still, he might have given Robert reason to think that he meant some… one again, Sarah contented herself with the word 'harm'. Robert might think that Jareth meant to harm him. Maybe Jareth had threatened something awful! She could just imagine Jareth threatening awful things. Which would explain why Robert wanted to take her away.

Except Jareth hadn't ever given her the least notion of meaning any harm to her. Would he be capable of harming his own daughter? She didn't believe he would. Even in the ballroom dream when she had run the Labyrinth, he had danced with her to keep her safe. To keep her away from everyone else. And he hadn't stopped her from pulling away, or breaking through the crystal. Oddly enough, he had looked relieved to see her fight back.

Sarah concluded that he was at least a little protective of her. So that made the threat a bit unbelievable. Jareth being Jareth, he could have made an empty threat, she realized, one that Robert had just taken too seriously.

"Sarah, will you hurry up?"

"Come, Dad." She stared owlishly around, gave up and contented herself with dragging a brush through her hair a few times in the hope that it would behave itself. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," Robert said tersely.

"Does it have to be this early?" she complained.

"Yes," he said, "Now quiet if you don't want to wake the whole Castle."

That supported the Running-Away idea. Only Robert didn't seem to be very worried. If he was looking around quite a lot, it seemed more to do with remembering where he was than with who might discover them.

Sarah trudged along behind him, still puzzling over her dilemma. In the cold light of reason, it didn't seem fair to blame Jareth every time that her father panicked. There were loads more reasons for that to happen; reasons like… Sarah was too sleepy to think of one. She shook her dark head, hoping to get her brain to work again.

It could be Karen and Toby, her brain helpfully supplied.

And it could be. If something had happened to either of them, Robert would definitely want his daughter there.

Sarah quickened her pace, her heart beginning to race. They were almost out of the Castle and she was picturing all the horrible things that could have happened to a woman and child left all alone. Jareth would send them back if he knew. He had probably been the one to find out, Sarah reasoned, because Robert didn't have that immediate contact between the worlds. So the Goblin King must have found out and told Robert and he was probably waiting somewhere to transport them back to…

"Sarah, why are you running?" Robert asked in surprise.

The scenario faded away. Sarah blinked again and it occurred to her that Robert wasn't looking very worried about anything and that if Jareth transporting them anywhere Robert would have said so by then.

"I thought you said hurry," she offered lamely.

"Only because we have to greet the sun," Robert pointed out. The man shook his head at the blank look on his daughter's face. "O told you yesterday that we worship twice a day- once at sunrise and once at sunset. Remember that. Now, our religion is very nature-based; our chief God is Lathos, the water God. We come from the desert so that isn't hard to explain. His mate is Helos, Goddess of Change and Circumstance. Their children are… I'll tell you later. You're falling asleep again. Come one to my rooms. The courtyard is where we'll worship."

Sarah nodded without registering a word of what he had just said, following obediently because she couldn't think of what else to do.

The Castle, even at that time of morning was still the scene of activity. Some of the windows still showed blazing lights and raucous laughter. A goblin was scampering around the garden with a tea cosy on his head and an empty mug in his hand.

Robert carefully avoided him. "Be careful at night," he warned, "The Castle isn't as safe for us as it should be."

"The goblins? Oh, they're harmless, Dad."

"You can't take a chance on that."

"No, really, Dad. What could they do?"

"Goblins aren't always the brightest creatures, Sarah. And at night the less controlled elements run around. The smarter ones are usually in bed and there's no one to check them. Anything could happen."

"With goblins?"

"They're usually harmless," Robert agreed, "I'm just saying that you should be careful. When they get like this, they might try to hurt you."

Sarah made a face. If Robert was saying what she thought he was saying, then the idea wasn't appealing. "They wouldn't dare," she declared.

"I wouldn't be so sure. You're stronger than most of them but they knew you as a Peshawa, and an iigon at that. They only have to treat you like one and you won't refuse."

Robert avoided five guards involved in a game of dice and made his way into the Labyrinth. "Turn there."

"Here?"

"Yeah."

"Why doesn't Jareth just move the courtyard closer to the Castle?" Sarah grumbled. She caught the enquiring look on her father's face. The Caste loomed up behind her. The courtyard itself was attacked to it. "Oh," she remarked blankly, "I never noticed that."

"You wouldn't have. This is the only other entrance to here," Robert indicated, "Through the Labyrinth. It keeps the goblins out and gives me my privacy."

"Did you choose it?"

The Peshawa paused in the act of pouring water into two glass bowls. "No. Jareth did. Subject to my approval, of course, thought I was hardly likely to disagree with him in those days."

"Not very spunky, were you?"

"You have no idea. Now, talk later. The first thing to remember is that you are greeting the day. You have to welcome it, no matter where you are. I showed you the formal sequant yesterday. Let me see."

Sarah managed a fairly graceful gesture: hands folded and rising from heart to lips to forehead. She was quite pleased with herself.

Robert surveyed her critically. "Thank God Linda taught you good posture. But try to make the whole thing more seamless. Um, more fluid," he tried, "What is the word? Less jerking. Better work on it later. We do not shout our prayers aloud. So I'll only do it for a few days until you get them memorized. After that, we say them in our heads. Every time you mention the name of a Deity, you use the sequant. The version you know if the formal one; I'll teach you the others later. Ready?"

Sarah was, in spite of herself, quite interested. The very barest bones had been explained to her un an impromptu lesson the evening before. But today would be the first time she would perform any part of her iigawa culture. It was quite exciting in an embarrassing sort of way.

Peshawa never knelt unless they were prostrating themselves, so Sarah didn't expect to be asked to fall to her knees. They stood with a bowl of clear water, not just as remembrance of Lathos, the father of the Gods, but also to signal the start of a new day.

Robert hadn't been lying when he said it was the only 'other' entrance to his rooms. Jareth slipped through the main entrance not too long into the praying, noting intently that Sarah was as absorbed is Robert even if she couldn't understand some of the more sophisticated Peshan words.

Her posture was stiffer than most iigawas would find acceptable but Jareth wasn't necessarily unhappy about that. She did hold herself well, and she did have a lot of self-confidence and determination.

Even at a very young age she had had that. His lips twisted into a cry smile as he remembered her calling his beloved Labyrinth a 'piece of cake'. Piece of Cake, indeed! If she only knew what he'd done to pull her along! Staying conspicuously out of her way had been the least of it!

He made sure not to disturb either of them as the sun began to rise. Every morning the story of the birth of the world was repeated. And every morning the Gods and Goddess were remembered and prayed to. Every morning. Without fail.

Thank Fate the evening prayers were shorter, he thought whimsically, just the usual thanks for all the blessings of the day and a hope for the possible end of the world. Or day.

The Peshawas really did have a colourful religion. Many more stories and characters. Nothing like the goblins' religion of grey, cold Fate.

Not that Jareth minded Fate. He believed in it completely, awed by its simple logic. The goblins were not as stupid as everyone else thought them. They were smart enough to choose to be stupid, at any rate, and though it exasperated Jareth, it amused him too.

When the last words spoken in that pleasant drawl faded quietly into the lightening sky, he stirred restlessly and waited.

Robert turned around and wasn't at all surprised to see Jareth sitting there. The Goblin King had often done so in the past, and for the briefest moment that quiet smile was one he remembered- content, satisfied, approving. Robert couldn't be so hard-hearted as not to return that smile. And so he dd, even if he was painfully aware that he didn't want to return to those days when that smile had been the only logical reason to think that everything was just as it should be.

"Good morning, Sarah." Jareth was already far away from what Robert was thinking. "How was our first salute to the day?"

"Interesting," she laughed, "I see that I'm going to have to brush up on my Peshan to know what I'm saying."

"It will get easier," Robert comforted, "You did very well for a first time."

"Thanks." She yawned unexpectedly, whipping up a hand to cover her mouth. "Damn! It's way too early for me."

Robert made some slight sound of empathy and then fell silent, choosing to take a moment to put the glass bowls back in their wooden box and away in his rooms.

Jareth was strangely silent as well.

Perceiving that the conversation was at an end, she turned back to the Goblin King and took his arm with a bright smile. "Did you come to take us in for breakfast?"

A dark brow rose. And she was suddenly aware of the fact that Jareth's brows were the result of artistry and paint than actually grown that way. It was disconcerting to take a mental step back and see him without the make-up and the glitter. Even his clothes were fairly conservative- for Jareth.

Robert came back and looked from the linked arms to his former lover's face.

"Breakfast," Jareth said meaningfully.

"Of course," Robert said dryly, "Lead on. I'll follow the both of you."

"Are you going to argue again?" Sarah asked bluntly.

"I? Argue?" Jareth flicked a dismissive hand. "Am I capable of such a thing?"

Robert snorted at the thought of Jareth too accommodating to argue and didn't bother to give voice to such a ridiculous thought.

"You know, Robert, those humans have taken all the politeness out of you."

"Yeah. You should try it sometimes, it's very liberating."

The flash of a smile and even if Robert was walking into the Castle behind Jareth he could picture that smile in his head and know exactly how amused Jareth was by that.

"No fighting, Robert," was all Jareth actually said, "There is a Lady present. And in my world, a Lady still demands the utmost respect."

Robert wisely didn't give him his opinion of the 'Ladies' in Jareth's world.


	18. Chapter 18

Beinheir and Nyme- the two major cities of the Allorn Kingdom.

Lauren Greche and Soen Willdon- two of the most famous Allorn singers. Lauren is female. Soen is male.

Opmi (pronounced as 'Hope' without the 'h' and 'my')- Allorn version of the word 'baby' in a romantic relationship. Refers literally to the younger of a pair of lovers but doesn't always signify a sexual relationship.

-------------------------------------------

"Your Majesty, it is impossible to change his mind," Vernon insisted, "I brought the full weight of my persuasion to bear and it yielded no fruit. There is nothing I can do."

The little redhead tapped a carefully kept nail against her teeth, grimacing quite fearsomely in thought. "Then you haven't tried hard enough," she finally declared.

Vernon sighed and dropped his head ever so slightly. She never did let up on him. He was grateful for her patronage- for a job was a job- but he wished she didn't quite prefer him to any of the others of his profession. She seemed to think he was a part of her personal entourage. "Madam, he will not reconsider. He has made that abundantly clear."

"Of course he has! Men never want what is offered them. I know that, certainly. But I am not asking him for his bed, precisely. He is surely not vain enough to think so?"

"Forgive me, he has said he won't give any aspect of it any thought."

"Insufferable peacock! You would think he would appreciate having beauty after all those goblins of his. Oh, this is giving me a headache."

Vernon considerately got her a glass of water and one of those little twists of paper with a fortifying powder kept for just such occasions. Her Majesty Queen Oric of the Allorns was as volatile as her people. More so, in fact, for the fashionable sentimentally came from her and not from any particular emotional characteristic amongst the Allorns.

The average Allorn was tall, pessimistic and very bored. They had far too much money and far too many slaves. They spent their time trying to find new ways to amuse themselves. And for that, they were rewarded with the reputation of being the most creatively innovative race in the main dimensions. Oric's personal jeweller alone was as well known as her mistress.

Or her Muse, since the creative order of the day dictated that every artist had to have a Muse. And the Queen would tolerate no other Muse but herself in her own Castle. She had her pride!

Vernon was getting a headache himself but refused to take the vile stuff the medics poisoned people with.

"Really, you would think he would be quite flattered at the offer," Oric remarked, "Here I throw him the chance to join a highly respected community, a thriving hotbed of revolutions and riveting new ideas! What more could he want?"

Vernon thought about the Goblin King. Jareth wasn't quite as interested in the revolutions and new ideas as such. He liked a few works of art but knew little about them. He had a tolerable voice but no one in the major Allorn cities of Beinheir or Nyme would ever think of comparing him to Lauren Greche or Soen Willdon. He was nowhere near the perfection of those two vocalists and even the women who were most intrigued by the aloof Goblin King would never compare him favourably.

"… it must be that wretched new Peshawa," Oric declared.

"Madam?" Vernon asked.

"His new iigon to be more precise," Oric spat, "I just received news, yesterday. Said to be quite the taking little thing. A replacement, no doubt, for the one that got away."

Vernon winced. He could still feel the towering rage over the last time he had had to say anything of the sort to Jareth. "I hardly think Jareth misses his former peshawa enough for that," he laughed lightly.

"What? But you said he turned me down for the last creature!"

Vernon lifted hand to halt the flow of indignation. "I said he had his fingers burned," he pointed out, an engagingly smug grin on his handsome face, "Marriage is not the only way to share a bed, my Queen. And the Goblin King has always held to have a varied, ahem, taste."

Oric began to smile. She giggled a bit and raised her glass of water in a mock salute. Down went the vile concoction and her smile still didn't drop. It was just too amusing a thought!

Of course Jareth wouldn't want marriage. He'd had enough of it the last time and Oric couldn't blame him, poor lamb. To see what he had put up with! She would have throttled That Creature herself if she had been in his shoes. All the tantrums and disrespect and flirtations. But what else could one expect from an iigawa of that reputation? Jareth should have never elevated Robert to such a high rank.

"Though to be fair, Robert was high born," she mused, "Most improper to see one of his blood brought so low. Considering Jareth's lineage."

Vernon pricked up his ears. From long habit he kept silent, knowing Oric would ramble on in her own self-centred way and forget there was anyone listening.

"Son of a soldier, was he? No, that was someone else. Son of… oh yes, a secretary for a Dross minister. And my darling always did say he was perfectly horrible. Can you imagine? And not the first son, either. A third… by the second wife, no less! Ought to have been nowhere near an exalted position. But look at him now. Goblins! Well, I suppose he could get no better. And they serve him well enough."

She shrugged them away with a delicate shudder and reached for the little brown bird that perched upon a silk cushion. "We shall forget him," she said robustly, "Won't we? I shall find another way to form an alliance and it shall not include having to put up with such savagery. Now sing, dearest, and give me something more pleasant to think about."

The bird obligingly sang once its tail was gently tugged.

Vernon obligingly sat through the bird's recital and then praised its many talents when it was done. Oric set it aside and then demanded that he amuse her with a story about the Vherders. He obliged her then too. And by the time he had told her all the stories that he could contrive, they were summoned to the dining hall for the Last Meal.

No one said a word as Oric glided in with all the fanfare accorded to a special occasion. Everyone was dressed and scented and primped and powdered. They wore their best clothes and their best jewels and their best manners. And they picked with elegance at the elegant offerings of the Queen's table.

Oric declared herself too depressed to eat and the court musicians were called in specifically to alleviate the 'burdens that rested about her fair shoulders'. The courtier responsible for such a graceful speech was subjected to the Queen's sweet smile of approval and the murderous looks of the other half-a-dozen courtiers who had wanted to say it themselves.

Vernon eventually managed to meet with a special person in the heavily scented Bower Room after the meal.

Clairen was his usual sweet self, sunny smile firmly in place and typical blue flower in his elaborately decorated white hair. But the blue eyes were far more shrewd that people realised and the pointed chin kept so carefully clean-shaven did not belong to a weak man.

None in the court was surprised to know either that the Queen favoured her late husband's bastard child as her preferred hired diplomat or to know that she favoured Clairen NeHemet as her Personal Advocate. Clairen was known to many as the only person who got things done in Beinheir.

The Personal Advocate offered a delicate kiss to both cheeks and then stood back and let his shrewd eyes rake up and down the diplomat's neat person. "You had a question," he asked pleasantly.

"Must I always make excuses to see you, Clairen?" Vernon mocked, "The truth is so very much more simple."

"That you want to see me?" Clairen tossed back whimsically, "I must say I have yet to hear a more rubbishing line. Flattering, but rubbishing too."

"Rubbishing?"

"My new word. Spectacularly bad grammar, is it not? Ah well. One can only try one's best."

The two exchanged amused glances. But Clairen softened enough to lay a slender hand on the younger man's shoulder. "What is it, opmi?"

"The Goblin King is lowborn?" Vernon chuckled, raising an eyebrow in enjoyment.

Clairen's face lightened. "Isn't it spectacular?" he laughed, "No one knows, so naturally it is a big secret. But yes, he is quite lowborn for one of the Gentlefolk in his way of life. One of the few in his generation to have to fight for his little patch of grass, so to speak. The others all inherited their parents' hard-won rewards, but not our Goblin King, oh no!"

Vernon shook his head in bemusement and then sobered up. "Her Majesty will not let her offer rest?"

The hand rose to affectionately pinch his earlobe. "The offer of marriage? Oh, Oric does not want it really. She wants to engage herself for a few months so she can play at being in love. She knows she isn't."

"You encouraged her, didn't you?"

"The Goblin King does have a reputation," Clairen admitted, "I was hoping Oric could charm him into working a few problems for us without payment. But alas, he shows no interest."

"The price is not that high," Vernon protested, "She might have married him by the end of it! And then where would we be?"

"Biting the corn to reap the harvest," Clairen agreed, "I was in two minds about it myself. But she had the idea hard in hand and to stop her would have been more than I had the energy for."

"Oh? Has age taken your energy away?"

"No. But I seem to recall you have a lot to do with it, opmi."

"You should never play junn if you haven't the stamina. And it was Iverne who insisted, not I. That girl will have you and she means to see that she does."

Clairen laughed again and shook his white head, lifting a hand to clip the flower securely in place. "She will have me. But only when I tire of her game. Not before then."

"And do you mean to give her everything?" Vernon enquired inquisitively.

"No. Just the mold of my ankles for her sculpture," Clairen frowned. He looked down and poked out one long foot to examine an ankle in question. "They are quite nice, aren't they?"

Vernon nodded critically. "The best I have yet seen. You should sit for her. This sculpture is very ambition. Even Her Majesty is contributing a body part." Clairen's head jerked up in interest. "Her face, Clairen. Could Oric even conceive of anyone else's on such a work?"

The two laughed again and then parted ways with a congenial shake of the hands: Vernon to his bedchamber for a well-deserved rest, Clairen to his study to do the work that no one else in the Castle even considered.

The boring work- the work that most Allorns could not comprehend. The dry work that involved convoluted sentences and yearly estimates and forward planning. They would not want to think about the dry rot in the archaic drawbridge that lent the Castle such character. They would not want to know about the accidental poisoning of so many of the precious herd of longtails that were kept only for special festival days. They would not want to know what flour he ordered for the Castle's use and how he prevented waste or want. They weren't bothered. So long as they were fed and watered and amused and left to their own pleasurable pursuits, they wouldn't understand what it took to keep them in such luxuries. But Clairen did, and while it was an absolute bore, he quite liked the job. It provided all the work his active mind could need. And after a few painstaking weeks, he had found it was an art form in itself.

And an Allorn always prided himself on art well done.

Meanwhile, the Queen stayed up and pondered the latest news to have reached her ears. Two letters lay side by side. One was much the smaller, being battered and scarred and a little faded by rough conditions. It was written on rough paper and closed with rough glue. It was a rude little offering, but Oric overlooked that for the contents. The fairy that kept her informed had her uses. Niko also had his uses, and his heavy, ornately worded letter gave her a less detailed but quite as telling account of this new Peshawa.

A Peshawa, damn her green eyes!

Oric scanned the description the fairy had sent her once more, frowning as she tried to put those green eyes and dark hair into a pale complexioned face with a full mouth and a straight nose. Decent neck, though the fairy had been kind enough to say that hers was by the far the prettier. More slender and sleek, the fairy had said. Niko just called her The New One and left it at that in his usual terse way.

But a girl.

Oric supposed that was for the best. She had wondered, for a moment, whether That Creature had managed to turn Jareth's brain. Though Robert had only birthed a brat in female form, so one could suppose… but Jareth had seemed quite as happy with his male form as female form so there was nothing to be said about that.

She finally locked both letters into a box and laid them in a locked drawer for good measure, rising to her feet in a swathe of brocade robe to go to bed. The enormous affair could have held many more than just the diminutive little lady, but she liked it that way. It made her feel very much bigger for having big possessions. And she liked the look of herself around big things; she looked very much more delicate. It was not only pretty, but it made people want to do things for her. Just in case she strained her little arm doing it herself.

Oric giggled and threw the robe casually to the floor. She tossed back the covers and slid sedately into bed. It was really too bad of Jareth to reject her offer. She thought him handsome enough and he certainly was intriguing. The brooding air of mystery and cynicism made him appear quite rakish. It wasn't the plan to let their marriage be quite that close but she might have been persuaded. If he had asked nicely. If she had been in the mood. Who knows? It might have worked!

She snuggled down into the warm covers and then shivered in sympathy at the thought of that other Castle she might have had to spend time in, had the marriage gone as planned. The Castle at the Centre of the Labyrinth was not known for its luxuries or its comforts. True, the goblins had a tradition of hospitality far beyond any other dimension, but the general lack of windows quite scared her. She could catch a chill! And the goblins really were so dirty.

"I would die of some disease," she yawned out loud, thankful for that little blessing.

Perhaps she didn't really want to get married. It would have been nice to be engaged, however. She thought wistfully about being engaged. Her last marriage hadn't been a success but she had liked the engagement. Three years of being courted and complimented and gifted all manner of wonderful things. Three years of anticipation and savouring.

So marriage was not what she wanted, no. But engagements were fun. And Jareth could be quite romantic when he wanted. The episode with Robert hadn't just been a lapse of judgement; Allorns had written novels and poems based on such a romantic tale. The court musicians had written ten verses and Soen Willdon had sung them. Beautiful song! Oric still found it stirred her soul to hear those passionate verses of love and longing.

Of course, the reality was quite a bit blander. Nothing very romantic about a Peshawa thankfully escaping banishment by allowing himself to be gifted to a vaguely interested third party. Nothing romantic about a ruler's bargain of a convenient lover that could deliver the pleasures without needing an emotional reciprocation. Certainly there was nothing really romantic about the fighting and the scandals and the eventual messy end. It was more embarrassing; Oric felt shame on Jareth's behalf, so how much worse would it have been for the Goblin King!

But this new Peshawa was evidently making up for her predecessor's failings. They were quite at home with each other, it seemed. They were quite the little family.

Oric was determined to find out about this new Peshawa.

In the morning.

If she had nothing better to do.


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note: I know there's a lot of theory. But I have to admit that that's the reason I'm writing this. I want a lot of theory in there. And there's going to be more if I can conjure it up.

Author's Note 2: Please note that these are all the results of my fevered imagination. The races are mine; the languages (terms and words) are mine; the cultural traits are culled from all over and are my own construction; the religions are mine.

-------------------------------------------

"Repeat," Jareth insisted.

"Jareth, I will never remember these names," Sarah protested, gesturing wildly at the scrawled notes in front of her, "Besides which, I don't see why I should! I'll never meet these people, surely?"

The Goblin King chose not to answer the question. Instead he addressed the former exclamation by darting in, leaning far too close for comfort. "Learn them," he warned softly.

He was gone as suddenly as he had come, stalking to the opposite side of the room with his riding crop twitching in his fingers.

Sarah bit her lip and glared at that straight back for a brief pause before bending back over the notes with a huff. She refused to do something so stupid as cry. No, not even if there was an ominous prickling at the back of her eyes and her nose had the sudden urge to sniff.

Jareth knew very well that she was sniffing unobtrusively. And he was annoyed at himself and at her and at the world in general. He had certainly never started on this scheme with the intention to make her cry. He'd never seen her cry, anyway, even if she had come close to crying when she'd first seen him at innocent fifteen.

"Put that down," he snapped abruptly, "Leave it alone. It's no use to you."

He dropped into a chair himself and sighed, pursing his lips as he watched Sarah push the notes away in a huff and drop her dark head into her hands.

"Are you tired?" he asked. It came out like another whiplash command. Jareth shook his head and forcibly gentled his voice. "It doesn't matter. We're done for today."

"Why?"

"Pardon?"

Sarah lifted her head from her hands and her face was pink. "Why the hell did you want me know these names?"

"You did ask to know the history of this place," Jareth evaded. He rose to his feet, halting the conversation. "Come. Take a walk with me in the Labyrinth."

"I'm too sleepy," she grumbled.

"Another early morning?"

"Far too many, you know."

"You really don't need to follow it," Jareth reasoned, "No one expects you to."

"No, I like it. But I wish the sun rose later."

The Goblin King chuckled and sat down on the table beside her. "Don't look so upset. You can always go to bed earlier."

She huffed and leaned forward on her elbows, moodily surveying the polished tabletop. Troy was very careful about the rooms that Jareth used. Somehow even the most brash of the goblins who chose to play in the Castle never entered any of the rooms that the Goblin King used. Considering that the Goblin King had little hesitation in hurting them to prove his point, she didn't wonder too much about the reasons why.

"You could just reorder time," Sarah asked pathetically, "Make the nights longer."

Jareth raised a painted brow. "You remember that."

"Of course. That was horrible of you. I still don't know how you thought it would help me."

"Sarah, there was a certain reputation that I had to upkeep," Jareth stressed, "It was not meant to help you. It was meant to make your task harder. But an alibi I sorely needed."

"An alibi. Right. Why do you need an alibi, anyway? You're the King of the Underground. Why do you need to justify it?"

"One, because the leaders of every other known dimension would have heard about the incident and that could certainly hurt my reputation. Resulting in a serious disadvantage for me in policy-making. Two, once every other leader knew that I had simply given you the baby back and left you alone, they would have wanted to know what made you so special. And that, Lannon, would have placed you in danger."

Lannon. He hadn't called her that in a while. Sarah smiled a little at the deliberate endearment. Jareth always cut her questions off by calling her Lannon. It always worked.

"Fair enough. So now I know."

"Now you know."

"But to get back to getting me a longer sleep tonight?"

"Sorry, Sarah," Jareth laughed, shaking his blond head, "It can't be done."

"No? Why not?"

"I can send time forward. But backwards? Too risky. If I even succeeded, the consequences would be disastrous."

"You've never tried it?"

He smiled at her disbelief. "Is it so hard to understand?"

"I don't get it, that's all."

He nodded and settled down to explain, scrawling in the margin of the notes to help illustrate his point- "Remember what I told you about the beliefs of the goblins? We believe in fate? Good. If you look closely at the theory, it is implicitly clear that no one reaction is ever determined by fate. Anything can happen in the future; the possibilities are limitless for the future. Do you understand that?"

She looked at the box he had labeled 'Sarah' and then at the arrow that pointed to an inexplicable word in what looked like chicken scratchings. "What's that?" she asked, stabbing her finger at it as though it might bite.

Jareth sighed and scratched it out, writing 'future' in English instead. "Another language," he said tersely, "Now concentrate."

"I am!"

"Good. Conversely the past has already been cemented," Jareth continued. He drew in a box and wrote 'past' inside it. "The idea is that if you enter the future, you will not disrupt the- the reality of life, because nothing definite has been determined in the future and the endless possibilities of the future take such an action with perfect calm. Whereas the past cannot be changed because it is already defined."

"But what harm can it do?" Sarah argued, "No, I mean I understand what you're saying. But seriously speaking, if you go back in the past, then it won't matter about the future because the future is still endless and so nothing will change."

"Ah, but you forget the present," Jareth stressed, circling the box labeled 'Sarah'. "What will happen to your present if you suddenly went back to the past and did things differently? If you went back to the past knowing what you now know about my motives, and you decided to take my offer of your dreams, how different would your future be."

She thought about that.

"You wouldn't even be the same person, Sarah, because the Labyrinth changed you. It is constructed to do so. You would never have run the Labyrinth. You would never have met Hoggle, Ludo or that damned dog- what is his name? You would never appreciate either the baby or his mother as much as you now do."

"Yeah, but I might actually have met you a lot earlier," Sarah grinned, "That wouldn't have been so bad."

Jareth smiled too, an elegant flick of the corners of his mouth before he became serious again. "There would be too many consequences to count, Sarah. Some of which even you would not realize, an action you have taken based on some residual emotion from your experience through the Labyrinth. And your life would be utterly different to the one you have now. Do you see?"

She looked down at the scrawling diagram. Jareth had defined both the past and the present with boxes. The future was still just the word- undefined. And she could see how the logic worked.

"You can't change the past without changing the present," she interpreted, "At least, where this theory of Fate is concerned, and so you only ever move time forward. Because the future is so limitless that it adjusts. Am I right?"

"Right." Jareth put down the pen and got off the table.

Sarah stared at the diagram a bit more. It was complex- Jareth hadn't been kidding when he'd warned her- but the bits she was picking up were very intriguing. "Do you believe all this?" she asked unexpectedly.

Dual-coloured eyes glanced over at her before Jareth shrugged his thin shoulders and tipped his head to the window. "How much better can you explain the Universe?"

"I don't know. It seems so sterile."

"It is if you only take one person into consideration." The Goblin King's voice dropped to a quiet drone. "There are millions of people in millions of places, all knotted together like threads in a woven carpet. Everything I ever did before you were born has led to you." He turned his head to rake his eyes objectively up and down her figure. "Having you here will change my life forever. And I accept that. I expect it. We all affect everyone else. My world would never be the same without you in it. And I wouldn't change that for the worlds."

Sarah caught her breath and tried not to choke. It was a side of Jareth she hadn't seen before, an intensity she wasn't sure about. But she offered a weak smile and looked thoroughly embarrassed.

He smiled too, a confident, cocky smile that was at complete odds with the simple honesty of his words. But smile and words seemed to go together. It was, after all, Jareth, and Jareth had complex ways of expressing himself that Sarah was still getting the hang of. Yes, he was arrogant enough to take delight in her squirming embarrassment, and confident enough that he didn't shatter like fragile glass to hear it reciprocated in any way, but he was honest. And he never had lied to her yet. Not really.

"The sun is shining," Jareth said, "I refuse to watch you sit inside and droop like melting ice here. Get out and go do something."

"Jareth, I'm twenty-five, not fifteen," Sarah pointed out, "I'm not going to go skipping through the fields."

Jareth raised an eyebrow. "I have goblins twenty years older than you who do it with no compunction."

"Yes, but those are goblins."

He seemed to admit that she had a point. "Very true," was all he said. In an almost surprised way, as though he hadn't thought of it himself.

Sarah only left him alone, shutting the door and making her way out to the corridors where she knew the goblins were playing a game of what looked like football, but with two balls of different sizes.

She laughed with all the rest when one of them took a swipe at the green ball but missed, falling flat on his rear. Only to have another one trip over him and go straight into their opponents, causing a pile-up of goblins in the middle of the corridor.

"Yis Lannon. Wanna play?"

A goblin with leathery little wings hovered beside her and grinned fit to crack his jaw. She turned to him and shook her head, turning to go. Even if she did take Jareth's mocking order and played like a juvenile adolescent again, she wouldn't dare play a rough game that resultant in a heaping pile of bodies every few minutes.

It was just asking for trouble. And Robert was right; she couldn't be too careful.

And she preferred to be careful. Her next change was coming up and she was growing very uncomfortable in her own skin. So far she wasn't aware of having 'lured' any of the goblins. Her human way of thinking put physical looks over any other consideration and no one could claim the goblins were physically pleasing to the eye. But even thinking of that, she was beginning to appreciate them. The few goblin couples that Mika had pointed out to her seemed fiercely loyal. They were so contented with each other and Sarah had been told that they left each other as easily as they joined, but there was such a strong commitment to the relationship while it was in existence that she couldn't help but feel a little wistful.

It would be nice to experience that. Her plans of romance had been dashed the minute she's been told what she was. A few guys, yes. But only on a few dates. And they never stuck around when she disappeared for three months at a time. At least she wasn't a virgin!

Well…

Sarah blushed. Only men. No women. And no men while she was male. Could that count? She hoped not. Though she wouldn't know what to do if she ever had to… if she was ever in a situation… not that it would ever happen.

For some reason she remembered the brief interaction that the King of the Gherengh. Such a strange feeling! But she hadn't actually been in any fit position to examine it at length and the entire thing had been too mortifying for words anyway. But she had liked him; such an instant thing.

Those eyes… and the dark hair, darker than hers… even that dark beard of his, though she'd never liked beards before.

What was his name?

Saxony, wasn't it?

Sarah knew very well it was Saxony. She usually thought of him once every three days. If not sooner.

She hadn't seen him since. He had gone by the time she was up the next morning. And Jareth had said nothing about him after that so she hadn't brought up the topic after. But would Robert know?

Sarah paused and tipped her head in an uncannily unconscious version of her other father. "I'll have to drop a few hints," she decided.


	20. Chapter 20

Author's Note: This is a short chapter- shorter than I'd like- but I'm not very well right now.

---------------------------------------------

The Goblin King made his way down the staircase from his rooms, sidestepping a goblin couple on the twentieth step of the fourth set of stairs. From their positions and the state of their clothing, he guessed that they had just shared the night together. It wasn't such a lurid thought; goblins had no real sense of shame if they didn't want to have one.

Dawn wasn't even blushing in the sky yet. But he was awake and he supposed he might as well take his usual place in the courtyard as opposed to pacing the Castle aimlessly. At least the courtyard had a little character. And a lot less goblins!

For which Jareth was always thankful.

Though, he laughed to himself, he had been more than just a little thankful some fifty years ago. Goblins anywhere near his peshawa? Fate, no! Not with the pride and possessiveness of that ridiculous relationship.

The door was small but it was thick. And it was locked. Troy was the only goblin with the key. Jareth had seen to that!

The Goblin King shut the door behind him, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness before making his way to the fountain in the centre. The gargoyle's eyes glowed strangely milk-white in the dark. Just as it should be; Jareth was pleased to note that his defense mechanisms were still in working condition. No point giving Robert the chance to complain about ill-treatment.

Jareth held out a hand and the gargoyle hopped off the fountain and onto his wrist. It chattered quietly for a moment and then nipped a finger.

Jareth shook it off and let it go back to its perch. He sighed for a moment and then turned to stare at the living quarters. Robert would be asleep.

That had never stopped him before, had it?

The Goblin King walked sedately to the open doorway, standing there quite still so he could pass the time looking over the changes Robert was sure to have wrought.

Robert had certainly made some changes!

More to the fact, Robert was asleep on the couch, an arm flung over his eyes and a sheet securely pulled up his chest.

Jareth felt his lips curve into a smirk.

He could leave it at that, he mused, sit outside and wait for the usual dawn prayers that he liked to observe because it was an amusing little slice of family that he found most entertaining, or he could see those green eyes groggy with sleep and heavy-lidded.

"Robert?" He swept into the room and flicked on the light switch without looking for it. He knew where it was. He'd reached for it in the night many times before. That was, after all, what a peshawa was for. "Robert, are you awake?"

The man certainly was now. He blinked and half-rolled and mumbled something before stifling an oath and sitting up. "What?" he demanded harshly.

A painted brow rose. "Your manners have slipped."

"What's the time?" Robert demanded thickly, staring out the window and keeping an eye on the smirking figure in the middle of the room for good measure. "It can't be dawn."

"It isn't."

"Then why the hell am I awake?"

Jareth's smirk only widened.

So did the Peshawa's eyes. "No," he warned, "Don't even try it."

"Come now, Robert, am I capable of rape?"

"Yes," came the unflinching reply.

Jareth had walked into that himself. He knew he had; he had meant to. He took the moment to walk over and sit down on the edge of the couch next to his former lover, watching intently to see if Robert would flinch or make some token gesture of denial.

Robert did flinch, and he shifted away. "What are you doing?"

"Why do you still keep that mask?" Jareth countered.

"Jareth, it is too early for this. I was asleep."

"And now that you aren't, I want to talk. Why stay disguised?"

"Jareth…"

"Am I to press the issue again?"

Robert put a hand up to his neck before he thought. "No," he said.

"Good. Tell me."

Jareth was clearly waiting- perched on the edge of the couch in silver and dark grey, painted and predatory as he normally appeared to the worlds. He was smiling, but that was never an indication of good humour.

"I prefer this guise," Robert said. It was true, he told himself, in certain ways.

"Not good enough."

"That's the truth."

"It's not the reason. Do you think I'll harm you if you use the face I want? I promise you I can control myself."

"It's not that!"

"Then why? Tell me."

One moment he had been asleep. Robert hadn't even been dreaming! He'd been asleep and he'd been minding his own business. And then Jareth had waltzed in and started in on him and he was tired of constantly being a source of amusement for the Goblin King. Jareth hadn't treated him as anything other than that since they had met and Robert was a little annoyed that he could be played with like a toy. Like a puppy taught to do tricks and respond to commands.

"I'm going back to sleep," he announced.

Jareth raised an eyebrow at such unusual disobedience. Hostility, yes. But disobedience? No. Even for Robert.

The Peshawa lay down again in complete defiance to whom else was in the room and shut his eyes. He breathed deep and completely ignored the smell of powder and musk from another freshly bathed body.

The silence stretched for an age. The sky began to lighten. The birds began to chirrup. The goblins were stirring in the Castle at the Centre of the Labyrinth, the kitchens coming to life and the work beginning for the day.

Sarah came upon a very interesting sight.

It was strange, like intruding on strangers that she didn't know. She had certainly never seen such a thing before. And certainly one of them looked a stranger. Though those green eyes were…

"Dad?" she asked incredulously.

Robert turned and then immediately muttered something under his breath that made Jareth lift a languid hand to hide a smile in his sleeve.

"Come in," the Goblin King invited, "You needn't look so surprised. Your father hasn't changed so much."

Lovely. That was what Jareth had called her dad before. Sarah remembered that. But lovely didn't even cover it! It was completely impossible.

Robert sighed and let the lid of the chest drop. "This is just a temporary adjustment," he excused, "And only while we are in the Underground."

"I thought you weren't going to change," Sarah protested, hand rising to touch those brown curls, "Not that I don't like it, but why?"

Robert was remarkably calm about it. He only shook his head and said they could discuss it later. For now, he told her firmly, they still had the rituals to do. He didn't mention why Jareth was in his room, or why he had a chest of clothing opened and at his feet. He didn't even explain who was responsible for the change in the first place. He managed to evade the entire issue altogether.

Sarah was certain she had misread that expression on Jareth's face when those mismatched eyes lingered on Robert's face for longer than necessary.


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Note: Please be aware that this is rated for swearing, gender imbalances and discussion of sexuality. I apologize if this offends anyone, but I assume since you have read so far, you will understand the warnings.

Ullal- like opmi, but the opposite. Literally refers to the older of a pair of lovers, though not necessarily sexual in nature. Like 'baby', it is a term of endearment without signifying anything other than closeness.

-------------------------------------------------

Oric almost tore the letter up into little pieces and threw it into the flames. Instead she stopped herself and took a long, deep breath and let it out very slowly.

"Is this true?" she asked quietly.

"Since I have no notion of what the letter contains," Clairen said apologetically, "I cannot tell you."

Oric held the letter out.

Clairen read it. And he himself sat down suddenly and read it again, one hand at his throat and the other tightening on the rough paper. "By the Powers," he breathed.

Vernon waited silently in his corner, knowing that he would get more out of the both of them if he didn't speak. Speaking would break that fragile agitation, would make them remember themselves. And the lure of gossip was too much to resist.

"Is this true?" Clairen asked in his turn.

"I have no idea," Oric snapped, bringing her little fist down on the table, "How dared he!"

Vernon concluded that her pride was hurt.

"That- that Creature!"

Vernon sat up straighter and restrained his tongue even more. The art of being invisible was a part of his job and Vernon was very good at his job. From what he heard, this was important.

"After all these years, he brings him back? Just as before! Mark my words, he will be sorry." Oric was almost hissing in her bad humour, red hair fiery around her pale face. "Oh, he will be sorry."

"Your Majesty, this is… surprising," Clairen soothed swiftly, "I am sure there is an explanation for this."

"Explanation nothing! I want his Kingdom cut off without a moment's hesitation. Any goblins in our lands are to be arrested and thrown into the dungeons. He will be made to pay!"

"Your Majesty, I can only imagine how hard this is…"

"You have no idea. The humiliation!" Oric clasped a hand to her breast, panting and wild-eyed, slumped in her seat as though physically hurt. "After all I have said," she whimpered, "Now he brings him back. Now! Why? To spite me? To hurt me? Why now?" She dropped her head into her hands and her white shoulders began to tremble.

Clairen looked in frustration to Vernon, but the latter just shook his head and left the room.

It was no good Vernon staying. He was favoured, yes, but Oric would only look at him and burst into tears all over again, wailing that even her first husband had never really loved her. Vernon was heartily sick of the charade. It happened a few times too many for his liking. Thank the Gods he was due to leave for the Kingdom of the Gherengh in a few days. Saxony was a gossipmonger and a little too uncaring in his sport, but Saxony was, at least, honest.

Vernon liked Saxony. It helped that the man was very attractive too. That beard… the Cherisse smiled to himself at the remembered frisson of that beard. It scratched. But in a very rewarding way.

What was he saying? He freely admitted to himself that he had a passion for dark-haired beauties. Lustrous dark hair that fell like midnight against the pure white of a sheet. Or against fair skin. Even better, in fact, against fair skin.

Vernon thought of the Goblin King's Peshawa daughter and felt very gratified for having seen her. A sweet little thing, clearly unspoiled and innocent, and very amusing in her awkward astonishment. But beautiful. Dark hair and pale skin. Pity she was so unaware of her own attractions. Vernon often thought it took all the fun out of the game if one of them were always unsure.

Saxony on the other hand was very sure of his own attractions. Perhaps a little too sure? Perhaps. Vernon grimaced. The last time he had seen the Gherengh King, Saxony had been completely dismissive until midnight, when he had had his personal bodyguard haul him to his bed. The rest of the night had been quite exciting.

"Vernon!"

Vernon stopped and turned.

Clairen's elegant figure swept up effortlessly to him without looking as thought he was on the verge of running, and then took an arm and gestured to the doorway of the nearest room. "A word, opmi," the older man said.

Vernon nodded and opened the door for him. The polite thing to do after all.

Clairen went in and the flower in his hair was askew. He wrung his hands, eyes wide and large and panicked.

An act, as Vernon well knew, but still he went to Clairen and carefully took the flower from his hair. Pinned it up properly with fingers that hardly dared to touch that white hair. He cupped the thin face in his hands and then dropped his hands to gently separate and hold those trembling ones. A show, after all, was what the Allorns were all about.

"What is it?" he asked urgently, "How may I help?"

"The Queen is distraught," Clairen said, "I need time to talk her out of this fit. Time that she will not allow me."

"Anything I can do, ullal, anything at all."

"Ullal. It is so long since I have been that."

"You know me, Clairen. Have I ever let you down?"

The other man smiled tremulously and shook his white head. "You have been everything that is loyal and true," he replied in kind, "My opmi."

"Always. Now, what is it that has you so upset?"

"The Goblin King, Vernon, who else? Whom else has Oric fixated her attention on for these months?"

Vernon wasn't very surprised. For some reason, it seemed very fitting to hear that the Goblin King could be so annoying even with the distance of a whole dimension between them. "What did he do to our beloved Queen?"

"She will go mad. I fear that."

"She is strong, ullal, and she will survive. What did he do to her?"

"His Peshawa," Clairen sighed, twisted away and drooping elegantly by the fireplace.

Vernon raised an eyebrow. Whatever Jareth had done with his daughter, it couldn't be anything that could rouse the Allorn Queen to such jealousy. Or had he finally declared who she was? It would still leave Jareth suitably unattached, however, and the perfect candidate to be dreamt over. Oric wouldn't actually go so far as to make a space for him in her life, but he was sufficiently interesting to dream over. Having a daughter would, as a matter of fact, make him more of a romantic figure. Especially with the sudden reunion.

And yet, Jareth had given no impression of announcing that fact to anyone. Vernon had certainly never spoken of it. And he doubted that Jareth himself would. Which still begged the question of what could have happened.

"What of his Peshawa?" he asked, "I would have said it was harmless. A fling and no more."

"What?" Clairen looked confused and then dismissed the statement. "Not that Peshawa," he said impatiently, "His Peshawa. His mate. The one who ran away."

"What?" This was too shocking; Vernon was very sure there was some mistake. "There must be a misunderstanding somewhere. Robert is not in the Underground."

Clairen's shrewd blue eyes narrowed suddenly and the diplomat could have bitten his tongue out for betraying himself so decidedly.

"Jareth had no knowledge of Robert's whereabouts when I last saw him," Vernon excused, "When did he find him?"

"It seems Robert stays there willingly," Clairen resumed. He wrung his hands again. "Imagine it, Vernon! He has taken him back! And the Queen's informant says that there has been no punishment. Not even a reclaiming, because no one has seen Jareth intimate with That Creature."

"So Jareth now has two Peshawa," Vernon prompted. He was curious about the explanation for Sarah. Was she revealed or was she still hidden in the shadows, kept a dark secret for her own safety? Vernon liked romance too. He always felt it had come from his father's side of the family.

"Yes. Both staying under his roof. His mate, and this new girl he is taken with. They live together; can you believe it? Such hedonism!"

"I almost envy them," Vernon commented.

"As do we all," Clairen agreed fervently, watching visions in his head.

"Two at once and both quite content with their places?"

"Yes. I suppose this girl supplies what Robert could not."

"What would that be?"

"Rationality," Clairen laughed, "He was never very rational."

Vernon had his doubts about that. Robert had always struck him as being very rational. But also very passionate. The kind of man, no doubt, who would be carried away by his emotions. Not a bad thing for a Peshawa. Not even a bad thing for a common man. But Vernon didn't say such things out loud. It was always better to keep his own counsel until he was sure.

"Vernon, must you leave in three days?"

"I must go where the money takes me," Vernon observed.

"Money! Pah!" Clairen turned up his elegant nose at the thought. But he smiled, knowing full well the other knew how much he loved currency himself. "Such a loveless thing, money."

"True," Vernon remarked, sliding closer, "It cannot keep me warm at night."

"I could think of a few ways that it could," Clairen teased.

"What? Pay for my pleasure? Come now. Prostitution has been banned in Allorn since the Last Age."

"Not, however, in other dimensions. The Peshawa dimension for one."

"That patch of scrub," Vernon snorted, "It is not worth the journey."

"You would not think so if you had tried it."

"I see you have."

"A wonderful girl. The tightest little pussy I have ever had the privilege to fuck."

For Clairen, such crudity was rare. The Allorn prided himself on his fragile, innocent, fey image. But now the predator shone in his eyes and he looked like any other man with the scent of sex in his nostrils.

Vernon recognized the look. "She sounds a prize."

"She was."

Something about that smug smile made Vernon raise an enquiring eyebrow.

Clairen didn't need prompting. "Robert's sister, opmi. A true delight to call her by her brother's name."

Vernon smiled politely and didn't find it at all amusing.


	22. Chapter 22

Author's Note: Meant to be a short chapter. Trust me; it continues onto the next one.

-------------------------------------------------------

The end of the second week was almost up. Robert was in a quandary. He had made his promises as regarded Jareth's plans, but he had also made a promise to his wife. He was, currently, trapped neatly between both.

Sarah was far from ready. She knew some of the rituals; she understood a few more words in Peshan; she even understood the theory of controlling her ability to lure. Robert had yet to see her accomplish using her magic. That in itself was hardly enough to pass as a Peshawa. Little things like the clothing she wore, the way she spoke, the way she used her hands or tilted her head, the way she ate and the way she entered a room- anyone remotely knowledgeable about Peshawas would know the difference.

So he wasn't done with his part of the bargain.

On the other hand, he had only promised Karen to stay away two weeks. It was more important to say he had also promised Toby to stay away two weeks. More than that and he would be breaking his promise to his son, which was an unthinkable state of affairs and one he would never forgive himself for. The child was already worried his parents were splitting.

And Karen would leave if he didn't go back in the next few days.

The Peshawa paused in his walk and shook his head. It was no use- Jareth would have to send him back.

He made his way determinedly to the Castle, ignoring the way that the goblins stopped whatever they were doing to stare at him avidly. Even Sarah wasn't awarded this much attention. They were all, however, waiting for the axe to fall as far as Robert was concerned.

So far, the Goblin King had been a little too disinterested in the return of his Peshawa. The goblins were beginning to wonder if Jareth had a more twisted revenge in mind than just a simple punishment. They hoped he didn't. Jareth was not a deceptive person, as such. He was just close-mouthed. But he could be deceptive if he needed to be. He'd proved that often enough.

The Goblin King, at that moment, was back in his study, with his writing case on his knee. In the process of composing a letter to Niko, asking for more time on a consignment of cloth. It was galling to his pride to ask, but he had sufficiently sweetened the request by adding to the amount for free. Niko would agree.

And then there were the court cases pending. Goblins didn't have judges, but sometimes the problems were too much for the local problem-solvers and he had to sit in on them. One of them involved a murder and Jareth didn't like murders. Goblins were usually too simple to murder people, but if they did, they were completely inured to their conscience. He would be forced to either kill the goblin or have him locked up for life. Depending on the case, of course.

Jareth shook his head and bent it over the letter to Niko. Work needed to be finished and then he might be able to casually run into Sarah somewhere in the afternoon and impart a few more pearls of wisdom. She was improving. She looked more like she should with every day.

The knock at the door broke his chain of thought.

The Goblin King glanced up and called permission to enter.

Robert came in and Jareth knew he would not like it. That expression was back again, the one he had lived with for fifty years, give or take a few years of fairly contented resignation.

So he put down his pen, took off his glasses and blinked to adjust his eyes again. "Yes?"

Robert shifted uncomfortably, hands clasped before him and green eyes steadily meeting that intent stare. "I have to go back Aboveground," he said bluntly.

Jareth thought very carefully over that. "Why?" he asked.

"I promised my family I would return in two weeks," Robert explained, "I can't go back on my word."

"Oh?" Jareth stood up and locked up his writing case. This was clearly not going to be solved any time soon.

Robert flushed.

"We are not done with Sarah. And you have a promise to me."

"I understand that. And if it were within my power to keep it I would. I'm asking you for permission to leave."

"I don't see how I can give it."

"Jareth, I don't really need your permission. I'm doing you the courtesy of being honest. I promised my family I would be back in two weeks; the weeks are up. I have to go back."

Jareth nodded, setting the writing case down on the nearest table and carefully brushing the wide wooden top. "And yet," he pointed out whimsically, "Sarah is your family too."

Robert sighed. "I'm not abandoning her. I just need to go home."

"Alright."

Robert knew Jareth. He waited for the catch.

"On the condition that you will make your excuses and return the next day."

Jareth walked off into the other room, fiddling with papers and looking for the cases he had been sent. He completely ignored the other man's dropped jaw. He didn't see why it was such a problem. Robert was needed here and there was surely some excuse to be made for that.

"That's impossible. How can I do that?"

"She's your wife, truina. I won't interfere in your… marriage."

"Stop that."

"What? Calling you truina?"

"No, making snide remarks. Look, I've done as much as I can and I've been very accommodating considering I didn't even want to be here in the first place. You can't prevent me from leaving! You couldn't before and you won't this time."

"Oh, I beg to differ," Jareth chuckled. It was a very light laugh, as though they were talking of something not so very important. "Oh, don't look scared, Robert. I won't lock you in a room or throw you in an oubliette. But you must realize that the fate of my Kingdom is placed in the balance. Everyone knows that Sarah is here; they simply don't know who she is. It's only a matter of time before Saxony finally loses interest in intrigue and tells the world and by that time, Sarah needs to be ready. I can't afford to let you go now."

"If you send her back Aboveground I could continue the training," Robert suggested.

Jareth didn't bother to reply. He dismissed the entire idea with an impatient flick of his fingers. Papers found, he wandered back into the room and stopped for a second, looking vaguely surprised that Robert was still discussing the issue.

"I made a promise to my son. He knows Karen and I are having problems and I don't want to ruin my marriage just yet. He's too young to lose a father!"

"Sarah lost her mother very early," Jareth commented.

"Sarah was young enough to feel nothing."

"Has she told you that?"

"She was too young," Robert protested.

Jareth disagreed. Sarah was young, yes. But in his experience, even the young could remember the parents they left behind. And they missed them more because they were too young to understand that they could never see them again- hope could be cruel like that.

"It's impossible," he ended, taking up his coat and pulling it on. The papers went into one large pocket and a pair of gloves was pulled out from the other.

The lock of hair was back down, falling into his eyes and he flicked it away with a jerk of his head, only to have it fall back down again a moment later.

Robert knew that lock of hair. And he knew that look of finality. Jareth was seriously not going to send him back. Which left him in a bigger quandary, because if he left on his own, the Goblin King was liable to fly into another rage and drag him back to the Underground. And this time, he would face consequences, even though they were not in a relationship as such.

"Just give me a few weeks," he said desperately, "Let me spend some time with Karen and Toby. I promised to take them on vacation. Karen wants Sarah to come too. After that, I'll bring Sarah back myself and try to spend some more time here."

"It won't work."

Robert knew it wouldn't work. But his marriage depended upon him getting Aboveground and he wasn't ready to end his marriage so soon. Lose Karen and Toby? He didn't want that. Not for as long as he could manage it.

"I knew it was a bad idea," he snapped, "Coming here at all! Trusting you! You don't even know how to treat people who try to help you."

"Try to help me?" The Goblin King looked highly amused at that. "You came here because I forced the issue. If you were accommodating in any way I don't flatter myself that it was for my approval. You did it for Sarah. Just as I put up with a lot from you for her. Don't make the mistake of thinking I will tolerate any more outbursts again, Robert. My patience is wearing very thin."

The Goblin King vanished with that dire warning, leaving his former mate in a state of high discomfort and worry in the spacious room.

From somewhere outside, goblins were holding a cockfight in the corridors and he could hear the unfortunate chickens protest that they weren't roosters and weren't interested in fighting.

Robert thought it would be much easier to be a chicken.


	23. Chapter 23

Author's Note: Direct carry-on from previous chapter, give or take a few hours.

----------------------------------------------------

"What do you want to teach me this time?" Sarah asked, smiling up at Jareth.

"Teach you?" He looked most surprised. "How did you get such an idea?"

"I'm not dumb."

"I should hope not. Neither of your parents are," he teased.

True to form, she blushed just a little. But she rolled her eyes at herself and at least she wasn't looking very uncomfortable with the idea. "So," she said, "Now that you've managed to 'accidentally' meet me in one of the many corridors of the Castle…"

"Amazing coincidence, isn't it?" he interrupted irreverently.

"Quite." She gave him a look similar to one of his own and noticed that it made him smile wider. "What are we going to do now?"

Jareth shrugged nonchalantly. "I thought we could dance," he said.

A moment later, he spun her around and she found herself in the same ballroom she had once broken through. The same one where, according to Jareth, he had sung her a love song to make it seem as though he was seducing her. The same one where she had met all those strange people that Jareth called his own.

There were no other people this time. The ballroom looked as though the dance had just finished, strewn with discarded scarves and masks and streamers. Gilded cloth ripped in the wild throng and dripping off the walls. Pillars scratched and worn from backs and shoulders and hips.

"Give me your hand," Jareth asked.

Sarah looked down at his outstretched hand and looked back up.

The Goblin King smirked and he wasn't dressed in extravagant blue. A simple white shirt with black breeches, an orange sash around his narrow hips. He even raised a painted eyebrow at her indecision.

"Why are we dancing?" Sarah asked.

"Don't you like dancing?"

"I'm not very good at it."

"Come, come, Sarah! Not from what I remember," Jareth laughed, "You followed beautifully."

She flushed again and didn't quite know where to look. It was stupid to find it so awkward but she supposed it wasn't really her fault since Jareth was provoking her. And what harm was there in dancing? Only, the last time, she'd been thinking of Jareth as other men besides a father and it was very embarrassing to do it again and remember that.

Jareth knew very well what was in her head. So he stepped closer and put a hand on her waist, taking her hand in his other, drawing her just close enough but never too close. Not close enough to actually touch. That was for lovers and he was certainly not her lover. She wouldn't have one for a while if he had any say about it. She wasn't ready! Just see how awkward she was! Any man could take advantage of her and she would be powerless to refuse.

"There's no music," Sarah muttered.

"There will be," Jareth replied, "Once we start. Ready?"

"I feel silly," Sarah burst out, "I mean, we're not even dressed for it!"

"I think you look wonderful."

"My gown is stained and my leggings are torn and my hair is all over the place. Stop laughing, I'm serious! How can I behave like any kind of princess when I look like a madwoman?"

Jareth bit the inside of his cheek, trying very hard not to laugh. She really did look like a tramp. But it suited her, somehow, made her look young and natural. Not some kind of carefully dressed doll but a living, breathing woman whose hair did blow about in the wind and who did catch her leggings on brambles and stain her gown with mud. Very like the women she had dreamed up. They were too large or too skinny or too pale and their clothes were too tight or too loose or slightly too low-necked or too ornate. But they looked like women! Only, Sarah was an innocent, and they looked like freshly ravished courtesans.

"Will you feel different if you change?" he asked her seriously, letting her go and watching her drop down on a step.

"Why dance?" she asked instead, "I mean, it's not like there's an actual party we're at. It's just the two of us- dancing. It feels weird."

"Dancing with me feels weird."

"No! I mean dancing in this place feels weird."

He looked around. "I can't see why. There isn't anyone else here to judge us. We can do as we wish."

She looked around too, but in her opinion it looked forbidding. She shivered as a chill went up her spine.

Jareth stifled a sigh and joined her on the step, stretching his long legs out and resting his elbows on his knees. "What troubles you?" he enquired.

"I don't like this place."

"It is only a ballroom. Why should it upset you?"

"The last time I was here people laughed at me. It's not a pleasant memory, you know."

"They were hardly laughing at you," Jareth sighed, "They were enjoying themselves. And you were amusing. They were drunk on spirits and alcohol and life and exhilaration. I don't see why you should feel ashamed of that."

"No, they were laughing at me. I know when someone's laughing at me and I know when someone's just being an idiot. And they were laughing. You didn't see the half of it, Jareth."

"I saw all of it. They didn't intend to insult you."

"I don't believe you."

"We can call them again," he suggested, a mischievous smirk on his face, "See how they react this time."

"Ha. Very funny. You're supposed to be sympathizing with me, not my tormentors."

"Tormentors? That is extreme."

"You're laughing at me," she wondered, "You're really laughing at me. I can't believe you!"

"Calm down, Lannon. I'm not laughing at you. I'm amused at something you've said, that's all. You have to stop thinking the entire world is judging you. A little pride in yourself, Sarah, goes a long way. A lot of pride and you won't even care."

"I am proud."

"No, you're stubborn. You want people to think you don't care. And you do. That's all right; your father does that too. Or he did. He hated dances as much as you do. Would never dance with me."

Green eyes flicked up interestedly. "Really?" she asked, frowning a little, "He used to dance with Mum- I mean Linda- and he still takes Karen out sometimes. He's quite a good dancer."

"Oh, he is very graceful."

"Graceful I don't know about. But he likes dancing."

Jareth smiled, but more at the bitter taste in his mouth. "He certainly did."

"You just said he…"

"Yes?"

She knew that tone of voice by now. He'd never used it to her, but she'd heard it used with the goblins. It meant Jareth wasn't in the mood to be crossed. The topic was clearly off limits. Therefore she was advised to change the topic and talk about something else. Anything else. Anything that did not refer to dances, Robert, or any combination of the two.

Sarah, unfortunately, had Jareth's own temper. And since Jareth hadn't actually ordered her to change the subject, she wasn't particularly inclined to heed the warning. Besides, she was inquisitive and enquiring- she wanted to know.

"You said he didn't like dances," she finished.

Jareth chose not to hear that. "We're wasting time," he said suavely, "Shall we dance or not?"

"You're changing the subject. You said Dad hated dances. But he likes dancing; he's quite good at it too. How can he hate dances if… oh. He hated the dances, not the dancing, right?"

"Clever as always, Lannon."

"You're angry, aren't you?"

"Not at all." He smiled thinly and with no humour at all in his sharp face. "But we are wasting time."

"No, we're not. We're talking. Which is something fathers and daughters do."

"Yes, but never for such personal matters."

"Oh, so it's alright for me to tell you private stuff but I can't expect you to trust me?"

"Sarah, this has nothing to do with trust. What may have happened between your father and I is not something we want to discuss with you."

"That sounds like something Dad would say when Toby asks too many questions," Sarah snapped, "Parents! All of you are mad!"

She stomped away for a minute and didn't really have anywhere to go. Besides which, she turned a corner and Jareth was right there, smirking in his usual way, arms folded and back up against the wall.

"The thing about parents," he remarked, "Is that you really cannot get rid of them."

She huffed.

He dropped the pose and took her arm. "Walk with me. No, head up; back straight. Yes, with pride. You are a princess and you should walk like one. Try not to stamp about like a goblin, would you? Take my arm. A gentleman always offers his arm. Remember that."

She rolled her eyes but didn't fight it. Whatever compunction had gripped her 'parents', she found it quite interesting. It made the days go faster at any rate, and the discrepancies gave her something to think about.

'_Always walk exactly two steps behind…_'

'_A gentleman always offers his arm…_'

Which one was she supposed to be? Peshawa or Princess? But since she was with Jareth- and he had given a direct command- she followed through with no qualms. It wasn't as if she would meet anyone else in the Underground. Unless Vernon turned up again and she certainly didn't want to be a Peshawa around him! Thinking about it, taking his arm was not something she wanted to do either. He would just spout off more of his rubbish and Sarah never knew what to think when he did that.

Jareth's voice suddenly interrupted her mental ruminations- "Look where you walk, Sarah. Try not to fall over your own feet!"

She glared at him, but as her annoyance only served to make her look more regal, Jareth didn't bother to say more. "Better," he complimented.

She said nothing more.

For a while they walked in that strange place in silence, Sarah concentrating on her movement and Jareth content with the silence.

"Where are we walking to?" Sarah eventually thought to ask.

"Nowhere. Do you mind?"

"I guess not."

"Robert," Jareth murmured unexpectedly, "Finds it much easier to live life as a human. It gives him a semblance of freedom. In these dimensions he couldn't find it."

"I don't understand it. I thought you let him do whatever he wanted."

That thin smile again. "Impossible. Letting a Peshawa run wild would reflect very badly on me. Besides, owning a Peshawa is only for the rich and the powerful. Robert represented a status of society that not only can provide for such a creature, but also control it."

"So they're a status symbol. Like an expensive car or a maid."

"I imagine so. Besides, allowing Robert to go his own way would only create more trouble. I don't like trouble."

"I can see." Sarah fell silent for a minute. "So if I want to do something that you don't like, you'll make me do things your way?"

"Yes."

"I won't do it, you know. Maybe it's Dad, but I don't like people ordering me around."

"And yet you put up with it. You must have, at some point in your life, known that you were following a command you didn't like. How did that feel?"

"I've done a lot of things I didn't want to do, Jareth. But then I stay out of situations where I take commands. My job doesn't order me around. Or it didn't before I quit. My friends don't. My family doesn't."

"What about lovers? Boyfriends? Girlfriends, even?"

"I don't have girlfriends. And none of my boyfriends stuck around very long."

"More fool them," Jareth agreed, "They had no idea what they were missing."

Green eyes went wide. "Excuse me?" Sarah gasped.

The Goblin King threw back his head and laughed. He stopped and leaned down to Sarah's side, bringing his hand up to grip her shoulder. "Peshawa are very sexually active, Lannon. And very sexually accomplished. Even without the training."

The woman collapsed into a fit of coughing and Jareth politely let her go. He didn't pat her back but then he wasn't the sort to be helpful in such negligible ways.

"That was mean!"

"The truth, Sarah. Only the truth."

"Ugh! I don't want to talk about sex with you."

"Pardon me, I thought we were talking about personal matters," he teased smugly.


	24. Chapter 24

Author's Note: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Just in case I forget it in later updates.

Author's Note 2: Thanks to everyone who reviews… thanks for those who read, anyway. Please let me know if I'm making a fool of myself.

Melkergale- The Green Valley. The old City of the Goblins was founded there.

Loquewren- the other side of 'truina'. It refers to the one that Robert acknowledges owns him.

-----------------------------------------------------------

The morning was not beginning well. A wish took the Goblin King from his usual morning seat.

He wasn't precisely loath to do so. Watching his tenuous little family pray every morning was restful, and peaceful. But Jareth could always find time to occupy his attention in more ways than the usual.

The boy was turning out frustrating.

First of all, Jareth had to make himself understood. The boy was twelve, understood no more than a few sentences of English- spoken slowly- and gibbered in his native tongue in pure fright.

Jareth was all but gifted the baby with a ribbon around her neck; the boy was labouring under the delusion that this strange person harboured an interest in human babies.

Jareth didn't, in fact, harbour any inclination of the sort.

Since the baby was red-faced and screaming at the top of a healthy pair of lungs, he harboured less of an inclination than normal. Trying to be intimidating while making oneself heard over a crying baby was a task to be reckoned with. Trying to do that while interrupting a non-stop flow of words uttered by a palpably witless audience who was so busy protesting that he didn't hear one word in ten was a feat impossible.

Jareth simply drew up a chair in the tiny room and settled in. He spared a thought for the peace and quiet of his morning seat in the courtyard and then dismissed the longing as quite beneath him. Not to mention it was unhealthy and delusional. Give up his duty- which he did enjoy- for a muffled snapshot of family life? Laughable!

He settled the baby in the crook of his arm, bouncing her in his arms as he raised a hand to his throat and cast a quick spell.

"Shut up," he ordered in the boy's language.

The boy almost went white beneath the healthy brown of his skin. He gibbered a little more and then sank down with his head covered by his arms.

"I won't hit you," Jareth continued, "Take your head out of there and look up."

Dark brown eyes peeped up.

"What did your sister do?"

"She was crying. Very bad girl, she is. I don't like her."

"You want me to take her away?"

"Who- who are you?"

Jareth smiled. "You want her gone?" he asked again.

The boy looked at the baby and made a face at her. "Bad girl," he said again, "I don't like her."

"You said that before." Jareth looked down at the gurgling baby in his arms and contemplated the situation. It looked easy enough. She was dark, like her brother, possessed of the same thick black hair and dark eyes. She was a fat little thing, round and heavy and energetic.

She looked a little Sarah from one angle. He stifled a grin at the thought of what that young lady would say if she heard that. He could almost hear her- aghast and embarrassed and growling as she always did when she felt that way. She certainly hadn't been the prettiest baby. But she had been charming.

At least, Jareth had been charmed. Bibin, the maid ordered to help look after her, had found her anything but!

He lifted hand carefully away from the wriggling bundle and adjusted her against his shoulder.

"I'm going to take your sister," he decided, "And I'm going to keep her. Only you will remember that you even have a sister. That is the price you will pay for my help."

The boy's eyes went wide. And he looked scared again, glancing uncertainly down at the baby he had just wished away. "You will take her away?" he asked, wondering.

"You gave her to me."

"Right away? She won't live here?"

"She won't live here."

"My mother will ask."

"She won't remember," Jareth assured him, "Only you will remember."

"But how can you take her?"

"You gave her to me," Jareth repeated patiently, "I will take her back to my land."

"Good. Take her!"

Jareth nodded and stood up, carefully wrapping up the little thing for the second-long journey to her new life. He noticed a small pin on her sweater. It looked religious and he supposed it was to protect her. Certain Aboveground religions did believe in things like demons or devils. He had often thought they were talking about visitors from other dimensions without knowing it. This boy, after all, would probably grow up to think he was some kind of deity.

Jareth flirted with the idea of revealing himself as a God but sighed and didn't do it. Tempting though it was, he couldn't.

"Do you want to say goodbye?" he offered, "You will never see her again."

"You will bring her back," the boy laughed, "She will cry so loud, you will bring her back. I know her. She always cries."

"I won't bring her back," Jareth said quietly, "Once more- do you want to say goodbye?"

The boy stood up and looked uncertain for the second time.

Jareth shook his head and backed away, grim smirk on his face as though he had won something important- "Remember this," he advised, "Your sister is going to be one of us forever."

The boy darted forward two steps and stopped. "Who are you?" he asked again.

"The King of the Goblins." Jareth had faded away even as his voice echoed his answer.

The baby certainly felt the apparition to the Castle at the Centre of the Labyrinth, but she merely wriggled a little harder and began to whimper.

Jareth stopped a passing goblin. "Take her to my throne room," he ordered.

The goblin nodded and ran off with the child.

Jareth sighed and shook his head, blond hair wisping around his face. These episodes always made him question the ignorance of the humans. They never saw what was right in front of their faces! So wrapped up in their own lives they couldn't even relate to each other, let alone to any other dimension.

Well, so be it. His goblins weren't complaining.

Neither was his Labyrinth.

Unpleasant, but they were necessary. Rather like applying a red-hot metal piece to close a wound. It hurt like hell; it trapped any possible dirt in the gash; there were chances it would do more harm than good. But in a tricky situation away from medical supplies, what else was one to do?

Jareth strode to the courtyard. The child could wait; his reluctant family wouldn't.

Sarah and Robert were holding an animated argument on some topic he couldn't follow. The door to that quarter was open and he stood in the shadow and watched them laugh, thinking of the pretty picture they made together. Away from that squalid room with its stale air and heavy scents, he felt the muscles in his shoulders unknot just by standing there.

Robert caught sight of him first. A brief shadow crossed that beautifully moulded face and then the brown head dipped in greeting.

Sarah turned around and the Goblin King found himself unable to help smiling at her bright grin as she beckoned him over.

"We were wondering where you'd got to," she said, "Busy morning?"

"A little business," Jareth evaded, "Did I miss much?"

"We ate without you," Robert said quietly, "I'm sure Yava could have something brought here if you'd like."

The Goblin King declined politely. He didn't, pleasantly, draw attention to the fact that the Peshawa was being just a little domestic. "I won't starve," he laughed.

Sarah snorted and got up. "Well, then, I guess I'll go. I was only waiting for you to finish breakfast."

"What in the world for?"

"You! You said it wasn't polite to leave someone else still eating," she pointed out, "See you two later. Hoggle's going to show me Melkergale."

"The Green Valley? Remember to call if you need help," Jareth said.

She rolled her green eyes and went away.

Jareth stood there for a moment and then noticed that his Peshawa looked… quite a bit worried. Jareth tipped his head and pondered that. No, Robert did look worried. Even in the two seconds it took for Robert to look his surprise at all this attention, Jareth noticed that he did look worried.

"I'm going to regret this," Jareth murmured, "What is wrong with you?"

"Me? Nothing."

Jareth winced. "Even humans cannot possibly tolerate so much bad grammar. Spare me the torment."

Robert got up. "There is nothing wrong with me," he said silkily, "Was that all?"

Jareth caught his arm in a tight grip. "Truina. Tell me the truth."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"I can see you fight it, Robert. Tell me the truth."

The Peshawa looked furious for just a moment and then bowed to nature and order. "I can't make you see that I need to go back Aboveground," he bit out, "My marriage is ruined. Karen will throw me out. I'll never see Toby again and that, loquewren, is the truth."

Loquewren… Jareth's fingers tightened again. "You haven't called me that since you left," he said expressionlessly.

"You summon me as a Peshawa, you will get your Peshawa. What else am I to do?"

"So you still prefer to fight until you give in out of exhaustion."

"I still prefer my freedom."

"You weren't meant for freedom."

Robert caught his breath. "That was low," he whispered.

"The truth, truina. I have never lied to you," Jareth told him, "Never once. Not even when it would have made things easy. Do you want me to start now?"

"I don't want you to do anything except send me home."

Jareth looked pointedly down to where his fingers were bruising warm flesh. "This is your home," he said.

Robert said nothing to that. He simply stood there, letting himself be restrained and caught, his eyes burning with fury and his face cold with control. As an iigawa he couldn't do anything except obey the commands. And if Jareth said that this was his home, then it was his home. He wasn't supposed to argue. He wasn't supposed to question. He wasn't supposed to ask for more than what he was given. He should be thankful for what he got, and he should be grateful for it.

"You aren't going anywhere, Robert."

"Yes, loquewren."

"Robert…"

"Yes?"

Jareth let go with a sound of disgust and asked himself again why he bothered. It wasn't worth it! This constant friction! Constantly watching what he said and composing arguments. Constantly disciplining. He hadn't envisioned things would be like this when a tired, relieved Peshawa had knelt before the leader of the iiga clan and accepted the punishment meted out to him. Jareth had been standing beside the leader and those green eyes had been so gratified.

"Sit down."

Robert sat instantly. If for nothing else except that that voice was seething with suppressed violence.

"This marriage means so much to you? Some woman you barely know? Tell me how that is possible."

"My marriage is not…"

A gloved hand shot out and fingers curved around the back of that graceful neck, fingertips pressing warningly on a sensitive spot just at the base of the skull. Robert flinched and froze, nerves already anticipating the pain.

Jareth might not be as tall as him, or as broad, but he knew how to physically control him if he needed.

"Tell me," Jareth repeated.

"I love my wife," Robert said, "I married her."

"That says nothing. You need a stronger partner to keep you," Jareth mocked.

"I married her because I wanted to. Not because I had to," Robert spat, "Not like you."

The fingers fell away. "Not like me." Time paused and then the smirk that followed was mocking, bitter. Mismatched eyes half closed as the warmth fell away to icy distance. "You forget. We aren't married."

"We are. According to your customs."

"I think not. I forced you, after all," Jareth resumed, mocking them both in his fluid voice, "You were given to me as a slave. And if I kept you, it was as a slave. I suspect I even raped you a few times."

"Stop…"

"Dramatising things? Oh, no, truina. This is only what everyone would have said, had they known the truth."

"You didn't rape me."

"I certainly didn't make sure you were willing."

"I did what you needed me to do," Robert insisted, "I was willing."

The Goblin King shrugged and meandered two steps away, breathing in deeply with his face turned up to the sun. "More to the point," he chuckled, "I kept you as a body to warm me and satisfy me. The perfect use for a Peshawa- the only use, might I add."

Robert didn't know what Jareth was driving at. Sometimes this happened- Jareth would get that strange look in his eyes and start saying the most insane things in the sanest of voices. Or was it the sanest things with the most insane inflection of surreality?

"And now you have a wife," Jareth ended.

Robert waited, hoping that something would explain the avalanche of words, but nothing seemed forthcoming. Jareth was standing there, hands clasped lightly behind his back, breathing in the fresh air with his eyes closed. Chest rising… falling… rising… falling… the slight shift of the head and that little line that sometimes appeared between his painted brows.

"I don't understand," Robert said. He stood up, the loose trousers and tunic fluttering with the agitation of movement. "What does any of this have to do with Karen?"

"I'm only trying to understand you."

"Yes, I have a wife. And I promised her I would be back in two weeks. I promised my son I would be back in two weeks. The same way I would keep a promise I made to Sarah, I need to keep this promise to Toby."

"Toby. This has nothing to do with the boy."

"Jareth, what are you talking about?"

"This is about your wife."

"Yes, she is my wife. She has a name, Jareth."

"Two minutes ago I was 'loquewren'," Jareth mused, "Excuse me if I am still a little incredulous."

Robert stayed silent.

Mismatched eyes slitted open and look at him. "You really love her."

"I wouldn't have married her if I didn't."

"And yet you say you married me. I wonder why. Could it have been the impulse of those first few years?"

Robert preferred not to think of them. They had been the better part of the relationship, and all the more bitter for being followed by such madness.

Jareth tossed his head and slipped towards the door. "As you wish," he called back, "You can go. I can do without this fuss. Tomorrow, however."

Robert felt his heart jump a little but he waited until Jareth had left the courtyard before hastening to his rooms in order to pack. He would have preferred to leave immediately but he wouldn't push for what he knew he couldn't get. Jareth would send him to the Bog of Eternal Stench more likely than Aboveground.

But at least he was going home.

Home.

This mess with Karen could be sorted out.

Robert was resolved to take Toby and Karen out somewhere nice for a vacation. Toby had school holidays soon and they could do something good. Something really fun. Just the three of them if Sarah didn't want to come.

Perhaps come back if Sarah needed him?

Of course! If Sarah needed him. He would do anything for her. She was his daughter. He'd given birth to her- admittedly as a female- and she had been the only good product of all his chaotic life. He adored her. But he had others to think about and he loved Toby no less for watching Karen give birth to his son.

Hopefully, Karen wouldn't be too upset that he was two days late.

Karen was upset.

She was sitting at the table at nine o'clock at night, staring at the phone as if she would like to throw it against the farthest wall. She would, but she had always been of the opinion that a mature woman never threw tantrums. Besides, Toby was upstairs asleep and she couldn't risk waking him.

Robert would have a lot of explaining to do when he got home. That much she counted on.


	25. Chapter 25

Sisk- friend in Sghinj (the language of the Gherengh).

Mera Sisk- my friend.

Cirtey sisk - my poor friend.

Xuewmif- (cruel) demon.

--------------------------------------------

Welcomes were tricky things. Vernon dismounted feeling as though he had been through the wars. His limbs were frozen stiff, he couldn't feel his nose or his fingers and one of his horses had died along the way, forcing him to leave some of his belongings in a discreet stash somewhere as safe as the wilderness could contrive.

The troll that lumbered up to him blinked watery grey eyes and began to welcome him in the creaking, wheezing language of the Gherengh.

Vernon made a suitable reply in what he knew was a heavily accented version of that difficult tongue and let himself to led inside.

The Castle was as bleak and cold as the landscape.

He huddled into his coats and tried not to look down. His clothing was mud-encrusted and dirty. He could feel a cold coming on, he was sure of it!

Thank God, Saxony had the best healer in the known dimensions.

"In here," the troll said.

No titles. No forms of address either. They didn't even have genders! They just… managed without.

Vernon nodded and went in. And felt himself start to smile.

The rooms were obviously Saxony's. The carpet underfoot wasn't thick, but it was warm and soft. Spotlessly clean, too, and Vernon wasn't sure he should drag mud around on its pristine surfaces. The roaring fire beckoned, however, and he made straight for it, undoing his coats and fumbling off his gloves.

Saxony entered a short time later to find his guest asleep before the fire, well-fed and watered, stripped to his smallclothes and wrapped up in a blanket.

The King of the Gherengh grinned to himself and took one of the deep seats scattered before the enormous hearth.

"Welcome to my Kingdom," he murmured, toasting Vernon's health by himself.

The sleeper barely moved.

Saxony laughed and drank. "The illegitimate son of a King, mera sisk? This might be some fun."

He finished his glass and then rose. Vernon could sleep where he was. Saxony spared a thought for his stiff neck in the morning, but shrugged philosophically and left him. He had a bed and if Vernon wanted to sleep on the carpet, he was welcome to do so.

The King of the Gherengh made his way to his own bed.

His personal servant was there, slipping a pan of hot coals between the sheets. The velvety cloth whispered but didn't catch.

Saxony undressed and dismissed his servant. The troll did leave.

Vernon made his way to the bed later that night, pushing at Saxony's shoulder when the latter insisted on spreading across the narrow bed.

"Move," the Cherisse muttered.

Saxony said something to the pillow.

"What was that?"

"This isn't your bed."

"I have a standing invitation, ullal. Move! My feet are freezing."

Saxony sat up and held the sheets up. "Get in," he sighed, "I suppose we can always use the heat."

Vernon crawled in and snuggled down, chuckled when Saxony yelped and shifted his feet away. "I said they were cold," he pointed out sagely.

"Go to sleep. We have work tomorrow morning."

"Mmm. I hope the pleasurable kind?"

Saxony chose not to answer that. Instead he kissed the tip of that slightly crooked nose and pulled on a broad shoulder. "Come closer," he ordered, "You're almost an icicle."

"I am a little cold."

"The fire died out?"

"You know it did. It always does."

"Cirtey sisk."

"Xuewmif!"

"Ah! You still remember some Sghinj?"

"Enough to abuse you shamelessly."

Saxony laughed lightly and let his hands trace languid patterns on that cold shoulder. It was heating a little, but slowly. And Vernon still shivered at intervals as they lay together. The silence was almost a companiable one, though the Gherengh King didn't feel in the mood for companionship.

Something a little more… heated?

He tapped the shoulder.

"Hmmm?" came the answer.

Not asleep then. Good. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the cool forehead. Vernon shivered again- a very satisfactory reaction to being kissed.

"You are absolutely insane," Vernon commented, "I'm here on business."

"I know."

"You never mix business and pleasure, Sax. Why with me?"

"Trolls," Saxony whispered severely, "Are not pleasure."

"And I am."

"I pay you well. I might as well make use of what I pay for."

Vernon didn't take it amiss. Saxony's tone was light, but he wasn't joking. But the Cherisse didn't mind. It created a pleasant work environment, at least; Saxony had never yet asked him for anything beyond this casual relationship.

"I thought you wanted my mind."

"The mind comes with a body. And bodies need to be sustained."

Saxony kissed him, effectively halting the conversation for long enough to divest himself of his heavy shirt. Cool fingertips instantly drew to his skin and he took a hold of those elegant wrists to guide them. Vernon only pulled away with a laugh and kissed his neck.

"Impatient," he commented.

"No reason to wait."

"We do have work in the morning," Vernon said.

"Need our sleep," Saxony agreed.

"In that case, we should hurry."

Saxony growled and stopped the conversation again.

They didn't have sex. They weren't in the mood for that. They did trade kisses, petting and stroking bare skin. When the basic cold was shut out of the bed and they were sufficiently sated to lie still, Vernon sighed and let go.

Saxony turned over onto his stomach and stretched.

Vernon stayed on his back, staring at the ceiling. He shut his eyes with the thought that it had been a pleasant welcome.

Robert went home to an entirely different welcome. Jareth hadn't said a word to him all evening and when the morning came, the Goblin King had been so indifferent to him he had barely looked at him except to nod a basic farewell.

At least this time there was a formal farewell.

Sarah hadn't noticed anything amiss until then. And even then she didn't comment on it, only looking from one to the other with anxious green eyes when their attention was on other things. She had thought they were doing a lot better with each other.

"I'll see you soon, okay, honey?"

Sarah nodded and waved goodbye.

The car disappeared. Along with her father.

Three hours later, Robert was home.

Home! Where he had a wife and a son and the closest he was ever going to get to the life he wanted. The weeks ahead were going to be rough but he had kept his promise and Karen wasn't an unreasonable woman. It was a cold time of the year and it would probably snow soon. He and Toby could go out and play together. They always had fun playing in the snow. Toby would always have to take off his glasses and he'd get so short-sighted!

Robert put the car in the garage and hefted his suitcase out.

Home.

It even smelt good!

Nothing like the Goblin Kingdom or the Castle at the Centre of the Labyrinth. Not that either of those places smelt bad. But he liked his little house and his little town and his little family.

He went in, announcing his presence loudly.

Karen came downstairs.

He smiled and then the smile faded. That pretty face was grim and not welcoming. "Karen? What's wrong?" He dropped the suitcase and went to her.

She took a step back and went around him to the kitchen.

Robert followed and then felt his heart drop. The smell of baking was thick in the air. Three cakes were on the table and that didn't include anything that might have been put away in the pantry.

"Did you have a good trip?" Karen had an apron tied around her, and she was dressed casually in slacks and a shirt. She still managed to look as though she was dressed for an occasion.

"It was fine," he said.

"Good. Were the guest speakers any good? Jackie went to one of those conferences last year and she said she couldn't hear a word the speakers said."

"No, the guest speakers were fine."

"Good."

She sat down at the table. It was very telling that she didn't ask him if he was hungry.

"Robert," she began. And then she stopped.

Robert sat down. His son was right; she only called him Robert when she was angry. Or hurt. Or serious.

"Robert, I called the hotel," Karen told him. Uncharacteristically, she bit her lip. "There was no conference, was there?"

The Peshawa was aware of his world crashing around his ears. He was aware that he had sat down at the table and that he couldn't really tell his wife the truth because his vocal chords were frozen in the shock and refused to work properly when he opened his mouth.

Karen twisted her hands on the table. "You lied to me. Worse, you lied to Toby. You lied to your son, you bastard. How could you?"

She'd never sworn at him before. He blinked in shock and tried to say something again.

This time she interrupted him- "I sent him to my mother's place because, Robert, we need to talk and we need to talk tonight. I can't believe you lied to me! I don't even understand why!"

"I had business," he promised, leaning forward, "I promise you it was important. I would never have gone if it wasn't important."

She looked at him and he could tell she didn't believe him.

"I called Noelle," she told him, "You took two weeks off work. Those two weeks that you promised to take us on vacation?"

"I will take you on vacation."

She clicked her tongue and spurned the suggestion. "Don't be silly," she snapped, "We have a mortgage and a bank loan. We can't go around taking holidays whenever we feel like it."

"Two weeks won't matter."

"Noelle won't give it to you even if you ask, Robert."

"She will. I spoke to her before I left. Honey, I didn't lie about anything. I did have business."

"What business? To do with work?"

Robert sighed and shook his head. Thank God Sarah had reminded him to change back. If he had walked in looking the way he normally did... "It was personal," he evaded. Personal. It couldn't get more personal than secret lives and ex-lovers, daughters and Kings and slaves and magical lands where anything could happen and everything frequently did.

"Then what was it?" she demanded, "What was so important that you had to lie to your wife and son and go somewhere else?"

He felt wretched. "I can't tell you."

"You had better tell me. I'm not putting up with this. You don't pull your weight; you act as if I have all the answers and you never take responsibility for anything. Stupid me, I thought that was the only problem we had. But now I find out that you're lying to me, disappearing for weeks at a time. And you don't even have the decency to come back when you say you will!"

"Karen, honey…"

"Don't you dare call me that!"

"Karen, I had to go somewhere that I can't tell you about."

"Tell me!"

It was a direct command. Robert bit his tongue and shook his head. It was hard, but it was all a matter of conditioning. He could fight instinct and learning and just use his logic. He had to use his logic! Nothing would be solved by telling the truth.

"It was another woman, wasn't it?"

This time he almost laughed in pure relief. "No!" He leaned forward, holding out his hands in desperation. "No other woman! I swear to you! I wouldn't… I don't need another woman. It was nothing like that."

"Then what was it?"

"I can't tell you. Believe me, I came home just as soon as I could. I love you. I love Toby. I would never do anything to hurt you."

"Then where were you?"

He bit his tongue again. It was a question but Karen wasn't asking. She was ordering him to tell. He bent his head and refused to answer.

The next sentence she spoke was in a voice sharp with decision- "Tell me where you went or walk out of this house right now."

Less then twenty minutes later, the Peshawa walked out of his house in a sort of stupor. He didn't bother to take his clothes. He just walked out. He stood outside in the cold of a late autumn evening and stared up at the sky.

An owl sat outside on the tree opposite the road.

He saw it. He looked at it. And he nodded bleakly.

The owl flew down and landed on his shoulder.

Both man and bird vanished soon after.


	26. Chapter 26

Author's Note: Sorry to take so long with updates. I've been busy. I hope everyone had a great New Year's and so on and so forth.

Author's Note 2: I'm letting you guys know that if you see something you don't like, please do tell me, because it may be some way that I've messed up or gotten confused. I'm human and that does happen. It may even be that I've just not explained myself very well. So reviewing is a good thing! I appreciate a simple review that says that people are reading this, and that they either like it or hate it. To everyone who has been reviewing, or at least reading, I thank you.

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"We do?"

"Yeah, we do."

Robert dropped down gracefully, one leg bent up at the knee, the other carefully tucked behind it on the floor. "Like this," he announced, "If you belong to someone, you sit on their left. This is very important, Sarah- always stay on the left."

Sarah stifled a groan and fought not to put up her hands to rub the tiredness from her face. They'd been at it all morning! Robert had given her two hours in the afternoon to sit in Jareth's little library and learn languages from ancient dictionaries, and even there he had joined her.

Lengthy criticisms and instructions on the way she was sitting and the way she was slouching had followed.

'_Sit up straight… chin up… keep eye contact… always hold with two hands as an offering, even when using it yourself…_'

And then Robert had progressed to getting her off the couch and down on the cold stone floor.

"It's cold," she protested, "It's stone!"

Robert shook his head impatiently, brown curls untrained around his gaunt face. "Don't be stupid," he said tersely, "Try it."

"No, I'm not. I was doing something before you came," Sarah reminded him, "I'm grateful for the lesson but this is ridiculous!"

"This is for your benefit, Sarah. Now, down."

"No. Why should I?"

"Because fooling around with pretences will ruin your life," Robert snapped, "You are who you are and the best I can do for you is to…"

"Get off the floor and stop throwing tantrums," Jareth interrupted.

If Sarah only rolled her eyes and stayed sitting in the lounge, Robert rose and gave his former lover the respect he was due. Far too easily, Jareth noted, with too much mechanical grace.

This had not been the outcome the Goblin King was looking for.

"Sit down, Robert."

Robert dropped down again.

"Sarah?"

The girl stood up and brushed herself off nervously. Those two didn't look very friendly. In fact, Jareth looked quite upset. He was standing there with all his attention focused on Robert and Sarah knew Jareth well enough to know that some very pointed conversation would be had. Jareth never concentrated on anything unless he felt it was worthy of all his attention. And he wasn't picking up books or running a finger over the furniture to play with the occasional bit of dust.

Robert, on the other hand… Sarah bowed shortly- cupped hands rising and head lowered- before leaving the room. She hurried away, straining to hear the loud shouts but thankful to hear only silence.

It was certainly silent.

Jareth was very good at silences. He bided his time, waiting until he felt ready to continue.

Robert stayed silent because an iigawa never spoke unless he was spoken to. And even then a true iigawa would ensure that his opinion was wanted before he replied.

"I am losing all patience with you," Jareth began, spinning away to pace to the far wall and come back, "I understand you are upset but taking it out on Sarah is not going to change your situation."

Robert still stayed silent.

Jareth raised an eyebrow and waited. Robert could have interrupted at any time during that statement and he hadn't. Jareth had expected him to. Robert was also making no signs of replying in a hurry and since Jareth quite simply never thought in questions, he shook his blond head and moved closer.

"She threw you out, truina. You went back to her; she threw you out. I conclude that your marriage is over. I understand what you feel about your son but indulge your angst in your own time. I won't tolerate it. Not again."

Robert stayed silent, head bowed, crouched on the floor as he had been teaching Sarah, brown curls in his face, green eyes unwavering.

But he still didn't say anything.

Jareth watched him, waiting for the inevitable break in the calm. But Robert only breathed quietly and stayed as he was. The perfect picture of submission. The picture of perfection. Jareth had been brought up with the Dross ideals of equality and democracy, but even the Dross viewed the Peshawa as slaves. And Robert was the son of the leader of his clan, raised to think he had to be an example to all others.

Born well and Jareth was perfectly aware that ironically enough Robert was far more cultured than he could hope to be.

This Peshawa. This man sitting on the floor, waiting on Jareth's displeasure, was higher born than the Goblin King.

Jareth hadn't raised his status to mate for sentiment alone.

And how terrible a master had he been for his slave to run away?

"Stand up," he barked.

The movement up was fluid, floating, and somehow looked as though Robert took all the time in the world even when he'd taken none at all.

Jareth had learned a long time ago to distrust this level of submission. Even at the start Robert's actions had been touched by skittish eagerness, fear, confusion.

How had he got through his learning years? Who the hell had let him out of Naigur Brenth when he couldn't keep his emotions hidden to save his life?

A Peshawa was disciplined! In mind as well as body! He had to think he was a slave, not just act like one. He had to give in to the needs of others because it was his life and it was his birthright. But Robert couldn't do it even when hundreds of his small clan found real peace in giving in to nature.

But Robert was also standing, hands loose to his side and his green eyes blank and emotionless.

Jareth sighed and studied him casually, looking him up and down with a measuring glance. "You are a wreck," he commented.

The immediate effect was to see the famous ability to change faces that a peshawa had. There were no ripples or strange, fanciful changes. Robert was one minute a tired, hollow-eyed man, the next minute he was as perfect as Jareth wanted him to be.

The essential point being, as Jareth was well aware, that he was constructed for the Goblin King's pleasure at the moment. Brown curls and green eyes and broad-shouldered litheness. Careful hands capable of playing instruments. Light feet and balance that were capable of moving with unusual grace.

Hand-crafted, the lot of them.

Every Peshawa was made to be perfection.

If they couldn't be perfect, they stayed in what everyone else relished as the whorehouses. There for a lesser charge to someone who could give a little pleasure for a quick few hours. Or in certain cases, conversation, because the Peshawa in question hadn't been able to learn the physical perfections that were so necessary.

This one had been a loss to them.

Jareth beckoned him over and Robert seemed to anticipate that for he was moving already and came to his left hand.

"The next time," Jareth said, "Tell her the reason why."

The next time Sarah saw them, it was at the dinner table. Troy stayed in the shadows just by the door, ordering the trains of goblin servants that Jareth seemed to need for his meals. There were delicacies that Sarah hadn't even heard of before. All being presented on carefully constructed plates of strange and curious designs. No one plate was ever the same. No one plate seemed to be the same colour, even.

Stranger to note, Robert was seated silently by Jareth's left hand. The two were sharing a plate. Jareth was the one accepting or rejecting what they were to eat. They drank from the same glass the drink that Jareth accepted. Robert wouldn't even look at his daughter. Instead he looked straight ahead, or looked down to the food he was picking at.

The entire occasion was conducted in almost complete silence.

Until Jareth nodded to Troy to withdraw and leave them alone.

The little goblin lady simply turned on her heel and opened the door. All the other servants trooped out instantly. Absolutely well trained. Troy shut the door when she left.

"I believe you have some questions, Sarah," Jareth said.

She certainly had questions. For some reason she settled for the very general plea of, "What's going on?"

Robert didn't move a muscle. He simply watched her, blank and patient. He sat straight with his hands in his lap. Until Jareth tapped the table. And then he rose and went to the cabinet at the side of the room to bring back a black stone box to set before the Goblin King. He did it without making a sound more than the rustle of his clothes.

Sarah physically closed her mouth and swallowed- heavily.

Jareth's strange eyes seemed to be staring keenly at her face, taking note of her reactions.

"This puzzles you?" he asked.

"Dad, what are you doing?" she demanded, bypassing Jareth altogether.

Robert didn't reply.

Jareth had waited to hear him speak and so far Robert hadn't betrayed his usual independent streak at all. In spite of all the pressures. The Peshawa continued to just look steadily out on their daughter with a pleasant air of neutrality and nothing to tell her.

"All your remarks may be addressed to me."

Sarah wasn't ready to listen. She really wasn't. She just gaped at the picture they made.

Jareth peeled the paper from what looked to be a sticky sweet and popped it into his mouth. He didn't offer the box. He simply traced patterns on the table with a light fingertip and rolled the sweet round in his mouth.

"I can't believe this! What did you do to him?"

Jareth cleared his throat. "Nothing," he answered clearly, "I told you Robert has returned to me."

"But he doesn't want to. Or he didn't! I don't understand. Why won't he talk to me?"

Jareth raised an eyebrow and turned to level a curious look up and down at his companion. "He certainly seems willing. I haven't given him permission to say anything."

"Permission?" It was a squeak. "What the bloody hell do you mean- permission! He doesn't need your permission."

"I'm afraid he does."

Sarah sat back and ran a hand through her hair. Somehow a part of her did point out that she should be happy. Her parents were 'back together'- whatever that meant. Then again… she didn't like this. Her dad might be a pushover but he wasn't a slave. And that's exactly how he was acting. She couldn't see her Dad in this silent, beautiful figure.

She couldn't think straight at the moment. She told herself that Jareth wasn't cruel and he wasn't a slaver. Robert had said that Jareth tried to give him some measure of freedom, hadn't he?

But Jareth was sitting there with such irreverence, and now that Sarah thought about it, it was Jareth's fault entirely that Karen had thrown Robert out in the first place. If Jareth hadn't refused to send him back, if he hadn't had the stubbornness to ignore the rest of Robert's life, Karen wouldn't have called up the hotel for the conference and found out he'd lied.

Toby would be without a father. Sarah liked her little half-brother. He was a sweet kid, if a little annoying. She didn't want him to go through this. And it was Jareth's fault. Jareth was acting like some kind of tyrant, giving orders and being waited on hand and foot.

No, Sarah couldn't think about it with any great clarity of mind. Not in the same room. Not with those cold green eyes fixed so calmly on her face.

So she bade them both as normal a goodbye as she could manage and left.

Jareth shook his head and closed the black stone box. He made a slight face at the bitterness of the sticky cough lozenge in his mouth and tapped the table again. Just to see what would happen.

Robert put the box back again. And then came back to his seat and waited quietly for the next instruction.

Jareth, on the other hand, had had enough. He wasn't complaining about the peace and the service. On the contrary, he was honest enough to admit that he enjoyed it. The difference lay in the intention. He wasn't getting all this attention due to any particular desire on Robert's behalf to give it to him; he got it because Robert felt he had no choice in the matter. Jareth wasvain enough to feel cheated by that.

The game, as he thought of it, wasn't worth it when he had to take the role of consolation prize.

Leaning back, he twisted around to the side, slinging an arm around the back of his chair.

Robert looked back at him with those green eyes.

Jareth really did enjoy the peace and service. And since Robert had left the Aboveground for good, he did seem inclined to fulfilling Jareth's every command. The Goblin King was perfectly happy to be worshipped. And he had the satisfaction of knowing that Robert's marriage would have ended sooner or later. He had only hastened a final ending to it all. Even if he had contrived and conspired a little- just a very little- to have his own way.

He'd once sworn to get his family back at any price.

Revenge was certainly sweet.

Revenge and promises kept.

He reached out a hand and Robert was there instantly, interpreting the gesture for what it was. The Peshawa didn't even question this.

Jareth wasn't about to question a gift from Fate.


	27. Chapter 27

Snaffed- Allorn slang for 'kidnapped'.

Felled- Allorn slang for seducing someone and putting them into a compromising situation because of it.

Mera sisk- like the previous chapter, it means 'my friend'.

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"Niko will not believe this," Saxony commented.

Vernon paused in the act of re-reading his instructions to look up enquiringly.

The King of the Gherengh was reading his mail. He had currently singled one out from the others and was consuming it with an expression of shocked delight and relish. He even licked his lips while those blue eyes continued to scan quickly over the single sheet.

"Vernon, I think I have another message for you to carry."

A message? Vernon stiffened and didn't quite like it. "I'm not a common messenger," he warned, "I do not carry personal mail." He was allowed to state his job limitations.

Saxony only laughed and shook his dark head. "I think you will want to take this message." He leaned forward, winking salaciously. "There will be a feast, Vernon, at Oric's palace. Your Queen has arranged for a festival. My contacts tell me that the Goblin King will attend."

Vernon wondered if he would be asked to present himself. He normally was. And then he wondered if that pretty little green-eyed daughter would be present as well. It would be madness for Jareth to even attempt such a thing! She'd be snaffed within the hour of her entrance.

Though perhaps she would be male. In which case she would be safe. Though the ladies could be as savage as the men when their passions were ignited. And sometimes the men didn't mind so much either.

"Is there any reason?" he asked coolly.

"Does Oric need a reason?" Saxony asked drolly.

Vernon sat up straighter. Oric didn't need a reason. She liked parties. She liked royal visitors. But when Saxony of the Gherengh took such note of it, Vernon's sharply honed political mind worked a little faster. Schemes like sudden announcements and mad alliances sprang to mind. Though he supposed Clairen would do his damnedest not to let that happen.

But could Clairen ever stop Oric in full impulsive flight. That was a question to ask.

"Take the message," was all that Saxony would say.

Vernon brought all his persuasion to bear, trying to get to the root of the matter. Officially it made no difference to him. No one knew about his relationship to Oric- he'd been brought up an orphan in the Allorn Courts. If the Queen had taken an interest in him, the reason why was a closely guarded secret.

Unofficially… oh, unofficially, he was a part of the Allorn Courts, in spite of his inter-dimensional stance. He knew it, and everyone else knew it.

"A hint," he suggested, smiling to take the serious nature from the words.

"We should discuss the business on hand," Saxony insisted, "I want Oric to increase her orders for mallow from my kingdom."

Vernon sighed and looked down at the tablet he was writing on. "I can make a convincing argument," he agreed, "But she will refuse. You imposed a tariff on foreign goods. Perhaps if you lift the interest a little, she might consider otherwise, but as it stands, you don't show any good faith with her."

"I am sure you can manage it."

"Saxony, I cannot in conscience guarantee this for you. She will refuse."

"You can think of something."

Vernon tightened his jaw. "Really, Saxony, I can't. She is going to refuse!"

"Do you want her to refuse?"

"It isn't my business. I relay messages. That is my job."

"Strange. You must know the policies and motives behind so much of the major dimensions. I wonder that you have no opinion on it."

"Sax, you are trying my patience."

Saxony grinned and leaned forward, propping his chin in his hand. "All this annoyance because I wouldn't tell you the big surprise?"

"I will find out eventually. You only save me the trouble." Vernon didn't lift his eyes from the tablet he was scribbling on. He wouldn't give the Saxony the pleasure of being childish. "I could persuade her that this is beneficial in the long run. Oric herself is not concerned with long-term plans, but Clairen might be of some use."

"Ah, yes. Your friend."

"I hope so."

"A very nice Allorn. I met him last at the Dross Council I attended."

Vernon derived some pleasure from remembering that Saxony had had to charm his way onto the Council. He hadn't merited an outright invitation. And Vernon had been there with Niko, who was important enough to be invited everywhere.

"He was very interested in Baer's little Peshawa."

Vernon looked up with the right combination of interest and placid blankness. The right expression was a necessity for him. If he couldn't hold himself in his right place, he wouldn't be successful.

"Such a tangled web," Saxony laughed, rising to his feet to pour some of the medicated wine he always kept in his rooms. "To be expected, I suppose, when so few of us circulate in our little world."

Vernon wasn't a part of that world. He wouldn't say so, however; to do so would be bad luck. So he did what he did best- he waited with a pleasant sort of blankness hovering around him, ready to listen or discuss something else should Saxony want.

Saxony was far more aware of Vernon's little tricks. Oric would have too if she wanted to. But she didn't. Saxony, on the other hand, did. He liked knowing about people. He found it useful. And he always found ways to use it to his advantage.

"Clairen has a- how do I put it- liking for the little thing, yes? I know Baer was quite… annoyed, with Clairen at the Dross Council."

Vernon had heard none of this. More to the point, he was certain that the Allorn Courts had heard none of this. Clairen was not the sort to be so obvious. And for all his posturing, most wondered if he could even desire in any physical way. Such things reflected badly on all of them and Vernon, for one, would never have believed it of a friend and mentor.

"Baer's sister was Robert's first intended, yes? And Jareth threatened to rip out your eyes with his own hands if you didn't stop harassing his Peshawa."

And Jareth was Dross-born, Vernon added silently.

"Not to mention Clairen called Nila by Robert's name. A tangled web, indeed. Wheels within wheels and all the spokes connected. Come, Vernon, I think it is time for your meal."

"This is more important, Sax," Vernon offered, glad to get back to topic for once, "The meal can wait."

"Mera sisk, I will not let you starve. No other diplomat would ever agree to work with me if I did."

"After the meals you eat every morning, I can't see how it's possible for me to starve," Vernon retorted wryly.

"Gherengh only eat one meal a day. We make it count." Saxony flipped a hand and a door appeared in the stone, opened almost instantly by a guard who knew these things.

The troll saluted because it was the King and Saxony would have him skinned if he didn't. Trolls did not, in general, offer any kind of deferential treatment. They never had, and they weren't going to change in a hurry.

The thick coated royal blue back disappeared altogether and Vernon scraped the papers together first and locked them away before following it sedately out the door.

He had assumed, when Saxony had engaged him, that Saxony would have some important business for him. The Gherengh King usually had his own messengers and Vernon knew for a fact that Saxony housed three other of their kind in the dimension only to assist him with ruling the land.

Vernon liked Saxony, but only when Saxony wasn't interested in him.

It was good to be back in the carpeted room again, a fire blazing in the fireplace and the smell of steamed treefowl in the air.

Saxony was on the rug before the fire, rubbing some kind of liniment into his throat, blissfully wrapped up in his own thoughts.

Vernon sat down beside him and watched.

"A slight tickle," Saxony said aloud, opening one blue eye with a smile, "Nothing to be worried about. It's not contagious."

"You have the best healers," Vernon shrugged, "I know their skills can cope with it."

"Oh, I trust my healers absolutely," Saxony acknowledged, "I only hate being sick. The wretchedness of it all depresses me."

"It does with all your kind."

"What kind of illnesses do Allorns fear?"

"We have water diseases," Vernon supplied, "And lung congestions and joint pains. I think the humans call it rheumatism. The worst is an insect bite that can cause paralysis."

"The wilcane sting, is it?"

"Yes. Horrible things. If it were just paralysis we would accept it. But it causes the limbs to swell and hurt, and since we're immobilized, there's little we can do to relieve our pain."

"How rare is it?"

"That depends on the class you are born into. The slavesget bittenquite frequently, I'm told. But since the slaves are not usually Allorn, they do not get paralysed. A brief swelling and maybe a mild infection, but no creeping death. The Allorns rarely leave their homes or safeguarded communes. Wilcanes can be kept away."

"Good. That is good." Saxony closed the liniment box and sat back, resting backwards on the heels of his palms while he contemplated another interesting question. "What about Cherisse? Can they get infected?"

Vernon didn't react in shock. He thought about it seriously and shook his head. "No cases exist for that, that I know of. I suppose not."

"And what illness do the Cherisse fear?"

"Mental illnesses. The loss of sight. The loss of hearing."

"I hear they fear life," Saxony said conversationally. If he was fishing or prodding, he didn't give any indication of it. To all intents and appearances, he was asking an old friend a few questions on subjects that were dear to his heart.

Vernon wasn't fooled by it. Whatever Saxony was getting at, the questions were asked for a specific reason. But he could bide his time and wait. "Naturally. They believe in the sanctity of the afterlife. The life of the present is a grey, cold, joyless existence upon a plain of dead spirits compared to their vision of life after death. I would fear life too if that were the case."

"Do you?"

Vernon looked enquiring and confused.

"Come now, opmi. Do you fear your life?"

"Not as such. I see no reason to fear life."

"So your mother's blood is not so strong in you." Saxony summoned the plate from the table and offered it up to his guest. "I hope this will do."

Vernon took the plate and nodded his thanks.

"About your mother…"

"You didn't ask me here to talk about this, did you, Sax?" Vernon asked bluntly.

Saxony grinned at him and stole a dried fruit from his plate. "Oh, I find it fascinating. You are the heir to the Allorn throne, my dear. You are Greville's son."

"Sax, who told you this?"

"The Goblin King, of course." Saxony really did enjoy that momentary flicker of pure fury. "I doubt he had an ulterior motive, though." Words picked with care could implant the very opposite effect in the listener's mind. Saxony was still practising. The Dross had it down to an artform and he was an avid follower of good breeding.

"He is mistaken."

"Apparently not. He claims Oric came to him for advise. The medallion he wears so proudly is from her, it seems. Part of that particular payment." That was an outright lie, but Saxony had never claimed to be honest. And a good gossipmonger always added his own embellishments to a tale. The telling would be too dry and boring without it!

"Then I shall take this up with him," Vernon said grimly, "May we change the topic?"

"By all means. To get back to business, I still want that increased demand for mallow."

"Not at your prices and not while there is a tariff on your goods. Either lower your prices or the tariff and I can guarantee the deal for you. The Allorns always need mallow. They make medicines for wilcane bite from the kernel extracts."

Saxony nodded in a pleased sort of way and then did a few sums in his head. Lowering the tariffs would still put his market under pressure and the trolls were no merchants, but they were producers who would be upset. Lowering the prices for mallow would cheapen the product and he didn't think he could supply the ensuing bulk orders that the worlds would demand. He didn't have the resources to produce so much as of yet. In a few years it would be different, but for now his hands were tied.

"I can't do either of those two things," Saxony murmured, stroking his bearded chin, "But I can offer you another deal. A personal one."

Vernon pricked up his ears. He put down the morsel in his fingers and swallowed.

"Oric will not want the worlds to find out who you are. Half of them already know that Greville felled a Cherisse priestess. Few- if any- know where the baby is. Or your mother for that matter."

"What are your terms?"

"I keep your secret, you make sure Oric agrees to this new inclusion."

"It cannot be done."

"I'm sure you can think of some way."

Vernon sighed and put the plate down, brushing his hands off on the cloth. "You are blackmailing me in order to get what you want. If I made this publicly known, you would be in disgrace. The Dross Council in particular holds a dim view of this kind of pressure."

"And yet you have just tried to blackmail me too, Vernon. You are saying that if I not blackmail you- a term I am about to contest- then you will keep quiet on the fact that I attempted it. This is not blackmail, my dear. I would ask for a lot more if it were. This is political dealing. I will assist you in one way, and you will assist me in the other."

"I am to assist you in this and you will not tell the world my heritage. That sounds like blackmail."

"What good would I get out of revealing your heritage? Amusement, maybe; the distinction of knowing what others don't. Not very much material gain, however. You will not lose much either. Except for this cover of being a hired diplomat. You are the heir to a good kingdom."

"King Greville did not choose to acknowledge me," Vernon snapped, "Therefore I cannot be the heir."

"Ah, but you are his son. And I could bring pressure to bear on the issue of heritage and, er, birthright." Saxony knew what he was proposing.

"Birthright." Vernon digested this. "You are proposing to help me take the throne when Oric decides to die."

"I am."

"You are very clear on this issue."

"I have a lot of respect for you. And friendship. One helps one's friends."

"You expect me to agree?"

Saxony conjured up a paper. "This is a document I had drawn up before you arrived. It is a contract. I will support you to your claim to a kingship, and I will promise alliance for a term of five years- conditions of personal relationship withstanding- in return for your assistance in this matter."

It was a lot to offer for such a simple case of price juggling. Vernon's head was swimming. The visions of a Kingship loomed large before his eyes, more seductive and sparkling than it had ever been before. But if there was one thing he knew, it was that contracts should never be rushed into. And there were too many things left unsaid.

"I'll accept," he said, "When I can bind this deal for you. There will be no penalties if I cannot."

"No penalties. The contract is here and we are friends."

"Draw up another contract to safeguard that," Vernon asked.

"So you will agree?"

"On condition- perhaps."


	28. Chapter 28

Author's Note: Sorry for the late publishing. Glad to see the review section come back to life again! I was a bit worried, there.

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"Hoggle, why do you have to spray the fairies?" Sarah asked.

"Dunno. But they bite," Hoggle said darkly.

Sarah looked from the fairy currently crying over her wet wings on the ground to the dwarf busy putting the next fairy in the same situation. They did bite. But she'd been getting thoughts, recently, most of them dealing with why everything was the way it was.

Why did Hoggle have to spray the fairies? It wasn't that he was killing them. He only wet their wings with something that burned the delicate membranes away. In a little over a week, they were flying around again.

Come to that, why did the goblins run wild through the Castle?

And speaking of which… no, there were too many questions concerning Jareth so she didn't even want to start with that.

Though she would like to know why he had constructed the Labyrinth. And how had he got so much magic that he could construct the Labyrinth? From the bits and pieces that he let drop, his command of magic was rare.

His command in general was rare. His egotistical self-absorption and smug superiority was rare too.

"You has to move from there, Sarah," Hoggle grunted, "I ain't staying here and you shouldn't neither."

"Why not?"

"The frogs come."

"The frogs?" she echoed, disbelieving, "What frogs?"

"Those frogs," Hoggle pointed out. He stabbed a stubby finger to her feet where a frog was sitting in perfect stillness behind her shoe, black eyes fixed on the little fairy. "They comes to get the free food, they do."

"Ugh! How can you do that? Poor thing!" Sarah scooped the fairy up and the frog croaked in an almost disappointed way before hopping to get the next one.

The fairy bit her.

Sarah dropped the fairy.

It was an unfortunate situation for the fairy but a fortunate one for the frog.

Sarah found it disgustingly fascinating. She stared with wide green eyes and then felt ill. The fairy had actually cried out in a high-pitched shriek when the frog snapped her up headfirst.

The frog itself looked very pleased, long legs still sticking out of its mouth while it digested in peace, black eyes staring straight ahead in concentration. The little rows of spikes along its spine rose up and quivered for a while in the sun.

"Warning off other frogs," Hoggle explained, "They sometimes go for the legs, cause of there being a shortage of fairies."

Sarah told herself that it was a way of life in the Underground. It was a wild land that still obviously wasn't fully tamed and this was just one piece of evidence to that fact. It was only the food chain, she told herself, the way that humans fed rats to pet snakes. Just the food chain. Like she had learned in school.

"It's not right," she muttered.

Hoggle chuckled and shook his big head. "But that's life," he said shrewdly, "You tolds me that yourself, eh? Not so sure now, are you?"

"Oh, come on, Hoggle! How is it right to… you're staring at my foot. Is there another frog eating a fairy?"

"No," Hoggle moaned, pointing a finger.

Sarah looked down in time to see the lazy crystal stop circling her and cruise away to the left. She looked at Hoggle and the dwarf was already moving, his bulbous nose pink in apprehension. Sarah followed the crystal too, though she really didn't want to.

But damn her Peshawa senses, the crystal was almost an indirect command. She knew Jareth was calling for her. Refusing that was not a battle she wanted to fight. It wouldn't hurt to fight once in a while, but it got tiring. So tiring. And Sarah found herself fighting more often than she had been in the past.

They turned a corner and there was the wise man, snoozing in the sun. Even his hat was asleep!

"Where'd he go?" Hoggle asked, whirling around in bewilderment.

"I don't know," Sarah said distractedly, "But I guess he'll tell us sooner or later."

The old man muttered something under his breath and Sarah went closer to listen.

"It's got jam," the old man muttered again.

"Eh, don't listen to him," Hoggle snorted, "He's talking in his sleep. Never said anything wise before, so's no reason to think he'll do it now."

"Wisdom comes from all sources, Hegbert," Jareth's voice said.

If Hoggle whirled around with a muffled yelp, Sarah only turned her head and cocked an eyebrow. "Hoggle," she said clearly, "His name is Hoggle."

"How strange," Jareth remarked, "What is a Hoggle? And how does it work?"

Hoggle backed up a step as Jareth approached.

"Shall we cut it open to find out?" Jareth asked.

Hoggle did let out a yell and this time he ran.

The Goblin King laughed and straightened up from his crouch. He didn't seem fazed by the fact that Sarah didn't share his amusement.

The wise old man had vanished, taking his talking hat with him, and Jareth was still there. Smiling that infernal smile. Looking as smug and superior as he had looked to Sarah on her trip through the Labyrinth. He was even wearing that metal breastplate thing over his shirt, and she had noticed that he didn't wear extravagant clothes on a daily basis.

"Was there something in particular?"

"So stern, Sarah,"

"I was talking to Hoggle," she said flatly, "You keep scaring him off."

"For good reason. The little rat might try something."

"What? Hoggle? Are you mad?"

"I'm never quite sure," Jareth smirked.

She made a visible attempt not to snap at him, curling her fists into her thighs and straightening her shoulders. "Was there something you want?"

He looked at her a little longer than was strictly necessary and then unfolded his arms with a sudden shift of his body. "Yes, actually. I want you back at the Castle early this afternoon. Another hour at the latest. The seamstress is waiting."

"May I ask why?"

"For now, yes, you may ask. I'll have a few instructions on that by tomorrow morning, but those can wait. The seamstress is here to create clothing for you. Proper clothing. For the Princess and Heir Apparent of the Underground."

Sarah couldn't really process that pompous announcement very well. She decided she had heard it wrong. "Excuse me?" she asked politely.

"Proper clothing for you, Sarah," Jareth repeated patiently, "You can't wear those rags in public."

She looked down at herself. So she had a little mud around the hem; what else could he expect when she wandered through a maze every chance she got. "What's wrong with these? I've been wearing them for ages," she demanded.

"That could be what is wrong with them," Jareth speculated.

"You've never had a problem with them before."

"In the Underground, shabby clothing endears you to the goblins," Jareth dismissed, "In the Allorn Courts, they won't."

"The- the Allorn Courts? I'm going to the Allorn Courts. Why am I going to the Allorn Courts?"

"A three day festival for a god of some sort. Does it matter? The point to this is that we are invited. I would say no but the entire known dimensions are invited and it seems they will attend. We are expected to be the life of the party which will require us to attend too." He paused as if to assess what he had just said. "The seamstress is still waiting."

"You never said anything about meeting anyone else," Sarah exploded, "I'm only here because you said I should get to know the Underground."

"And you have."

"The Underground does not include the Allorn Courts or anyone else! I'm not going. I'm sorry, but I can't go."

"You are going."

"No, Jareth, I'm not."

"Sarah," he snapped sharply, "You are going."

She stared mulishly at him for a while and then hit on the perfect idea- "I'm going to change in a few nights. I can't go anywhere."

The triumphant words did stop the Goblin King for a minute. But a quick bout of strategic thinking, he waved the entire concern away with a gloved hand and said, "All the better. None of the men are actually homosexually inclined. So long as you don't lure them, you will be safe."

"You didn't just say that!"

"A practical problem, I do assure you."

"All you can say to a valid question is that I won't be raped if I'm careful? What the hell is that?"

"Lannon," he only called her that in extreme situations and she knew it was the end of his pleasantry, "Lannon, you are going to that ball. As my daughter and my heir. As a Peshawa. You will be what you are. And you will follow every order I give to the utmost. The seamstress can fit you for female clothing today. You will need them eventually. She can return to fit your male form when you convert."

Sarah was tired of fighting. And this was a big command, very emphatically given, with no room for her to manoeuvre her way out. Jareth was commanding it. And Jareth had that power.

Power.

"You have no power over me," she whispered.

"It only ever works once, Sarah," he told her, not unkindly, "And I have all the power in the worlds over you. The last time I let you choose to be with me or away from me. This time, I'm giving an order."

She wouldn't move. Mutinously staring at the place where the wise old man had been and refusing somehow to let herself follow the command.

"I gave an order!"

It was a shout. Loud enough that she jumped and felt the control snap. Her feet moved on their own and she looked away because she didn't want this to be happening and yet it was. Sarah reached Jareth's side and Jareth transported the both of them back to the Castle.

Robert was there. In the courtyard.

Sarah couldn't look at Robert either because he was someone she didn't recognize any more, but at least he was familiar in this strange new world. The Underground had never felt so strange to her before and she supposed because Jareth had indulgently kept her in a sort of happy little place where she could pretend not to see reality from where she was playing.

Robert took his daughter away, back into his room.

Jareth hadn't expected him to ask permission. Though he would not have been surprised if this hollowed shell of a man had proceeded to ask for it anyway. The Goblin King was still waiting for the glimmer of personality to make its presence felt.

He shook his blond head and resolved to be a little stricter with Sarah as well. She was running wild, currently, and he had indulged her far too long. They didn't have the time to discuss things through and come to some kind of compromise. At least for now, he would have to fight with her, making sure he won every round.

At least for now.


	29. Chapter 29

"Sire, we have a visitor," the goblin yelled, bursting into the throne room as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

Jareth flicked away the crystal and sat up. "I know," he said shortly, "Prepare guest rooms. The King and Queen of the Vherders are here."

The goblin bobbed a quick curtsey in spite of being male and bounced away.

The Goblin King waited, upright, hands on the curving armrest, balanced perfectly just on the edge of his seat. Chin raised and eyes narrowed as he thought out his plans. Just in the pause before battle.

And then he rose graciously to his feet and stalked up the shallow steps to the entranceway.

He was waiting against a pillar in that hallway when the enormous doors were thrown open. Robert was with him, a shadowy presence always just there, silent and watchful. Not a goblin was to be seen in the near vicinity- Jareth kept an ordered Castle when he had a mind to.

"Your Majesty," Jareth said smoothly, going forward and presenting his hands to be clasped in traditional welcome, "To what do I owe this visit?"

Niko was about to reply when a large, buxom woman with a pleasant voice drifted into the Castle as if a wind had blown her in. "Jareth, forgive the intrusion. We were in a hurry."

Jareth bowed civilly. "Beatrice," he greeted, "An unexpected pleasure."

"This is not a social visit," Beatrice said bluntly, "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Of course." Jareth didn't change expression at the forthright approach. He liked directness; especially when it was business. All the humming and hawing irritated him. "But I suggest we wait until this evening. You have travelled a long way and must be tired."

Niko tapped his wife's shoulder to indicate silence. "That would be pleasant," he said, "Most kind of you."

Jareth showed his teeth in a sharp smirk. "Standing on ceremony, Niko?"

The other man's perpetually stern expression deepened to disapproval.

"Don't tease him, Jareth. You know how angry he gets."

Jareth laughed and offered an ironic gestureto the Queen. He liked Beatrice; they all did. They were never quite sure why! But she was a kind of native mascot for all the Gentlefolk in the major dimensions. Even Oric couldn't stay angry with her for long. Jareth didn't even try. She had a good head for business and a straightforward approach to politics. She made his life a lot easier, and a lot more interesting.

"I find it ironic," he remarked, "Such a show of familiarity as this urge to just drop by my little kingdom, and then such formality in address!"

"I apologize for that," she dismissed.

"An apology is a lovely thing, Beatrice. Might you send a herald first, next time?"

"We did. I'm afraid he lost his way in the Labyrinth. Have a goblin fetch him, please?" She turned around and handed off a large, ruffled cloak to a fluttering abigail just behind her, "And we turned the flybirds loose in the Labyrinth. We can call them back if it is a problem."

"No, no problem. I don't anticipate a challenger for the next few days," Jareth agreed, smiling at his guest as she made herself at home. He looked her up and down and faltered. "What is that thing on your head?" He gazed at the feathered monstrosity with an incredulous eye.

"Do you like it? It's a new- what was that word, Niko?"

"Design, Beatrice. A New Design."

"That," she pointed out to Jareth.

"Wonderful," Jareth murmured blandly.

"Don't bother the man with hats, Beatrice," Niko grumbled, "Damned flimsy things! Flew off twice on the way!"

Beatrice's smile widened unashamedly. She left Jareth's side to put an arm around her husband's shoulders. No words, but then they rarely needed any.

The Goblin King caught Troy's eye and the goblin housekeeper nodded imperceptibly- the rooms were ready, the retinue taken care of, and refreshments prepared for the royal visitors. Jareth looked further along the hallway and Robert came out from the shadow he was hiding in and somehow ended up at Jareth's right hand without seeming to do so.

"I think you all know my Peshawa," Jareth introduced, "Robert, you remember Niko and Beatrice."

"Welcome to the Castle at the Centre of the Labyrinth," Robert said softly. He knew Jareth. He knew Jareth got some kind of kick out of hearing him greet guests as the Goblin King's formally acknowledged mate.

Jareth certainly didn't get upset at his Peshawa's presumption. He took it for granted, indeed, and enjoyed the mingled look of discomfort and surprise on his guests' faces.

He let them gawk. Just for a little. Even put his arm around Robert's very male waist just to see their expression.

Enough gawking. He was bored of it. "Niko, Beatrice, if you would like to follow me. Troy will see to your people and belongings."

"A drink would be nice," Beatrice said honestly, "Flybirds are beautiful rides, but the chariots are always so hot!"

Jareth didn't comment on that, merely letting go of Robert's waist enough to offer his arm to Beatrice. "Your Royal Highness?"

She took it with good grace and let him lead her away.

Niko tried not to look at the tall, slender figure that walked just behind them all, staying passively to his right hand. The worlds knew, obviously; Jareth hadn't attempted to keep it a secret. But this was beyond all bearing! To flaunt the Creature again like some kind of trophy. After all the hassle and scandal and bad image, Jareth seemed just as arrogant as before.

Niko didn't like arrogance, even if he was honest enough to feel that Jareth's reasons were perfectly justified. The King of the Goblins was certainly on the take in this new climate.

Jareth led them into an austere little sitting room, cutting off the outside world by shutting the door and locking it for good measure. He placed the key on a little golden stand waiting just to the side and gestured to his guests to seat themselves.

"Beatrice, you're the most charming hand with a silver service that I know. I really must ask you to preside," Jareth smirked.

She took it in good part, as she always did. Even if she privately thought that Robert would have been far more graceful with the actions that she was. And a logical choice too, all things considered. Though, perhaps, not without a little controversy… she was happy to preside. She liked being busy with little jobs, even if she had to pretend to be a lady like the others.

Robert stayed by the window, away from the little group, curled up in the window seat and almost melting into the wall.

Niko found that green-eyed gaze very disconcerting. "Business," he said abruptly, "Of a very personal nature. I would appreciate speaking to you alone."

Jareth didn't comment outright. He looked at Robert, but only to warn him to stay where he was. He could read that the problem was a personal one- Beatrice was growing more resolute by the minute. His own apprehensions- always a vague question of curiosity when presented with a client but no actual facts- deepened to an actual thought. He wondered, not precisely for the first time, if this wouldn't finally be the one problem he couldn't solve. His vanity disagreed, but his self-preservation wasn't always so sure.

His reputation for assisting with personal problems was under a lot of strain. Saxony had only presented a few of the things that people said. And yet he liked the thrill of the problem, the egotistical pleasure of having his intelligence so publicly acknowledged.

He compromised- "I must admit I am curious. You rarely apply to me for aid and so I assume this is something dire. How can I help?"

Niko forbore to say that he wasn't actually 'helping' since they would pay handsomely. "In private," he insisted, shooting a glance over to Robert.

"My Peshawa is very discreet."

"It is a personal matter," Niko repeated.

Jareth stayed silent and said, "We could discuss this in the evening. My Peshawa has other plans then."

"Niko, don't be difficult," Beatrice sighed, "Jareth, we want a child. One of your wished-aways."

"Oh?" Jareth was certainly caught off guard by the announcement. His first instinct was to feel let down by such a mundane concern. "Not an impossible feat," he admitted, "One that I could manage. Why?"

Beatrice shifted uncomfortably but lifted her square jaw very firmly to Jareth's enigmatic eyes. "I can't conceive," she said bluntly, "I cannot give my husband an heir."

The Goblin King tapped a finger against the arm of his chair, sorting things neatly in his head. This was certainly a novel problem, one that he hadn't met before. He wasn't sure if he agreed with this vision of himself as some kind of adoption agency. He didn't want to encourage people to think he was. On the other hand, refusing assistance for something so small was a relatively unthinkable option. It would create more varied problems than it was worth.

"Do you mean to refuse me?" Niko sat straighter and stroked his bearded chin in growing anger.

"No, I was simply weighing your options," Jareth said. He looked from one to the other. "This is certainly a personal issue. Rest assured, all concerned will be discreet."

"Thank you."

"However, if I am to pick a child for you, I would need to know why, and what the situation will be."

"Why?" Niko exploded, "Why do you imagine? For an heir!"

"Fair enough. But a child is a child. Will he or she be your child or just your heir?"

"A child, naturally," Beatrice insisted, "A family. We are not savages, Jareth. We are also not abusive." She glared a little to get her point across and was mollified only when the other man raised his hands in a gesture of apology.

"A girl or boy, then?"

"Boy," Niko said slowly, "Might as well make it definite, eh? If we can choose?"

"Might as well," Jareth agreed, "A boy. An infant?"

"I- I don't know. What do you think?"

He thought about it a little more. "Am I working in a time frame or can you afford to wait?"

Niko clicked his tongue in exasperation. "Don't you have any at hand?" he demanded.

Jareth smirked and shook his head. "I give them to the Labyrinth," he explained, "Those are off-limits. They don't just sit around my Castle like sacks of coal. I have none at the moment."

"So we have to wait," Niko accepted. He patted his wife's knee awkwardly as he nodded to himself. "How do we know when you find someone suitable?"

"Give me the details that you would like and the moment I find one that fits your needs, I will send a messenger to you. You and Beatrice may then come here to inspect the child and make sure he is what you're looking for. After which you may take him with you."

Jareth kept a very close eye on Robert. The Peshawa had gone rigid, looking down at his hands as if there was finally something on his mind that broke through that cracked, desperate calm. If only they had been alone, Jareth could have asked, demanded, ordered… but there were bigger issues at hand and they were not, unfortunately, alone at all.

"That sounds satisfactory," Niko said, "Beatrice? Love, does that suit you?"

Beatrice smiled quickly and twisted her hands just once in her lap before rising to her feet. "The journey was more tiring than I thought," she put forward, "I am a little tired. Excuse me?"

Jareth took her to the door and a chambermaid was there instantly. He handed her over with all the right sentences and continued to say all the right sentences while Niko took his leave as well.

And then he was alone.

Rather, they were alone.

He turned to look and that brief flash of personality was well hidden. He fancied he could still see it shimmer below the surface. "An interesting proposition."

Robert nodded and stayed where he was.

Jareth sat down and examined his nails for a minute before glancing up and patting the couch beside him with a smile. "Come here."

Robert, obediently, went there.

"What did you think," Jareth asked intently.

"They are good people," Robert said colourlessly, "They will honour their duties."

"Oh, they will pay fantastically well for this, I will see to that. The usual price for my services, a raise for my discretion and there is the fact that losing a child will mean less magic for my Labyrinth to feed off. They should pay for that too, but when the child is selected, I think."

Robert nodded again.

Jareth was sitting back, one boot irreverently up on the polished wooden table, looking at Robert's back and shoulder because the Peshawa was perched very correctly on his seat. The Goblin King put out a languid hand and ran its fingers through the thick brown curls.

He noticed a slight flinch- a very miniscule tightening up of those broad shoulders. He touched the back of that firm neck and definitely Robert flinched, tightened up, waited for that little spot of agony to be pressed on. Jareth wondered idly what Robert thought his sin had been this time. The little flash of personality from earlier? Was that what Robert was worried about?

"Tell me," the Goblin King whispered, "I want your opinion."

It took a few minutes. "The payments should be fine," Robert offered, "They will pay anything for a child."

"Most will," Jareth agreed, "Do you think they will be good parents."

"They will do their best."

Not yet, Jareth knew, it was too soon for any actual opinion. But Robert was talking. He was still saying everything right, however, and the effect was frustrating and just a little bit sad. Jareth stroked through the thick hair again and thought about it. Tangling his fingers and tugging insistently.

Robert didn't even put up a token resistance. He turned without a word and let himself be pulled down. Let himself be kissed. Even opened his mouth.

It was exactly what a Peshawa would do.

Jareth let go and let Robert sit up again. He watched him, though, and felt a momentary disappointment that they couldn't come to some kind of compromise over this master-slave business. Jareth liked being worshipped, he just wished it were more of a flattering sort of worship.

Ah well, perhaps it was for the best. Oric's festival was coming up in a few weeks and Jareth had two Peshawas on his hands, one of whom was absolutely untried and not even properly trained. He didn't need another independent-thinker to create more trouble for him.

Which led him to make conscientious plans about certain things. Certain facets. Robert would have to be at his right hand, of course. Sarah behind them? Yes, behind. Oric would split Sarah from them, Jareth knew that; he expected it. But if he put his mark on her strongly enough, she wouldn't be harmed. It would be awkward, yes, but not hurtful. Not physically, anyway.

Robert would be another matter. Jareth was less certain of Robert. Judging by Niko's reaction, Robert would not be received back as easily as Jareth might want. There would be questions. There would be derision. Jareth would look a fool for even taking him back at all!

The Goblin King's mark on his newly returned Peshawa would have to be even stronger than the one on his daughter. Robert was older, and the general public was less forgiving with older persons. Sarah struck a tragic figure, but Robert had always been too much a bone of contention. Too liberal. Too repressed. Too difficult.

Jareth put out a hand and brushed one single brown curl back behind an ear. He began to smile a little, a plan already forming.

Robert would not like it, but Jareth saw no other way.


	30. Chapter 30

Author's Note: As usual, when the Peshawa change forms, I refer to them with gender correctness. So Sarah will be a 'he' in male form.

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"There are tales, Jareth. People gossip a whole lot," Beatrice said openly, "I thought you would want to know."

"So they wonder about my second Peshawa." Jareth found it even more amusing than usual. Gazing up at the stars and he wanted so badly to laugh but he refrained from politeness' sake. "A communal little relationship, they think this."

"Some think she's a Peshawa who ran away from her clan. Only the iigawa clan doesn't have anyone missing."

"You refer to those rare creatures that don't like being slaves." Jareth couldn't resist, leaning closer with a confiding air- "She does fight the reins a bit."

"Jareth! Niko said I wasn't to listen to such talk."

"Why not? I find her resistance endearing." Jareth was almost biting his tongue to keep the laughter at bay. "The most beautiful creature in the world."

Beatrice jerked her head at him and eyed his profile with some surprise. "You have gone mad," she finally proclaimed, "I should have known. But these things are so hard to see."

"Never mind. You can tell Niko that you were caught unawares. And a mad Goblin King is no mere annoyance."

She smiled in spite of herself. "Now you are being facetious."

"Big words, Beatrice. You'll confuse me." He smirked back and fluttered his fingers to make the crystal roll.

"Will I get to meet this most beautiful creature?" Beatrice demanded.

"Not tonight. Tonight she is otherwise occupied."

It wasn't a lie. Jareth had it on very good authority that Sarah was very busy being uncomfortable at the moment. She was in her room, with Mika offering soothing comfort, twitching and snarling and bemoaning her fate while her muscles twisted and her nerves ached. If Jareth had additional reasons to want Sarah to stay away for one night, he wasn't about to make a scene by admitting it.

So he played with a crystal for Beatrice's amusement, did the tricks he knew she liked, and gracefully steered the conversation far away from Sarah. He did relish the secrecy, though. And there were numerous times when the 'facetious' side of his humour longed to throw some tantalizing little statement out into the air, just to see Beatrice react.

Niko wouldn't react, of course. Niko would lecture.

Jareth found it very annoying to be the subject of moral disapproval. Of a glorified Head of a Merchant Guild, no less. King of the Vherders, indeed! But he held his tongue, because Niko was still powerful. Still too powerful. The Goblin King was patient to a fault, but even he was growing restless having to present himself on Niko's introductions.

He gave no hint of his preoccupation, however, inviting the whole lot of them to dine. He would have preferred privacy, but the goblin custom was quite specific. And the Gentlefolk always pandered to the native customs.

"Are your rooms to your liking?" he asked politely.

Niko only grunted, but the others at the table gave false smiles and false praises.

Jareth could see right through them. And from the way Robert unconsciously moved closer to him, he guessed the Peshawa could too. Under cover of the table, he placed a careful hand on Robert's knee, warning him to silence just in case. For the others, he gave a knowing smirk that made quite a few cringe in guilt.

"Troy is entirely at your disposal," the Goblin King offered, beckoning her forward, "A word in her ear and your rooms may be changed."

Troy knew her part. She bobbed her head and looked to the retinue.

The Vherders were thick-skinned, but those unreadable, strange eyes were not encouraging them to unburden their troubles. The Vherders politely declined and didn't say another word.

Jareth let his hand drop when Robert moved his knee away. There was no point pressing the issue.

Niko was off on one of his tirades, demolishing whole dimensions in a few, short, pithy critiques. Beatrice was completely unconcerned. She smiled at her husband and seemed to find it all a very good joke.

Jareth was almost amused himself.

Almost.

He listened. Very carefully. Storing up information in a mind trained to dissect facts with as much precision as a capricious nature could allow. This dimension was as fauning as a damned pet- he knew a minister there that could be used to further his cases in that kingdom. That dimension was so blinded by their own racial wars that they weren't interested in the outside worlds- he had some vague interest in the strategic placement of that dimension; he would look into offering his aid.

Halfway through the formal meal, Jareth felt a familiar tremor in the Castle. He hadn't felt that magic for decades. He looked across to Robert, to find the Peshawa glancing at the door.

He put his hand on his knee again, this time to share something.

He wasn't even sure what he was sharing. The knowledge that they knew what that was? Probably. Touched with a little pride, too.

Jareth was certainly proud of Sarah. Frustrated with her ignorance, yes, but proud of her. She wasn't some weak-willed little miss. She made sure she got her dues. Jareth liked that about her. He liked her curiosity. He liked her humour. He liked her dismissive attitude. He especially liked that she was so entranced by magic.

"Do you want to go?" he asked, leaning into Robert's side.

"She doesn't need me."

"I asked if you wanted to go," Jareth persisted.

Robert was silent.

Jareth sighed and tapped his thigh. "Go," he ordered, "See if she is alright and if she needs anything. Be a father to her. Then go to my rooms and wait."

Robert followed that perfectly. As far as Jareth knew, anyway. But certainly Robert got up from the table and left with a soft murmur of excuse and certainly Robert was in the Goblin King's study when Jareth went up for the night.

"How is she?"

Robert nodded and got the throat lozenges from sheer habit. "Tired and sore. She said it was easier this time."

Jareth waved the medication away with an impatient hand. "I hate those things," he grumbled, "They taste foul."

Robert didn't argue. He put the box away and came back to his original position.

Jareth perched up on a table and just watched him. Looked him up and down and decided he liked that bright pattern on him and maybe the next time he would pick out something in yellow and green. But something… oh, something so much more enticing.

The worlds had to see him at his best! Jareth was convinced of that. The worlds had to see Robert at his best and most enticing and then the worlds wouldn't dare try to risk the Goblin King's wrath. Peshawas were objects of status and power. Not just anyone could keep one.

Strange, since they lived in dirt and squalor and crude surroundings in their native lands. A farmer could afford to keep a Peshawa and no mistake! But a farmer wouldn't dare. Because of Peshawas like Robert. They just looked as though they were too fragile for the everyday world.

Well, Jareth could exploit that easily without a pang of conscience.

"You will do it tonight," he said. A statement, not a question.

Robert didn't even see another option. He only nodded and kept those green eyes fixed unwaveringly on Jareth's strange pupils. The one so dilated, the other so normal. Typical Jareth- normal until one saw the flaws.

"There are the gowns from before you left. Those should serve while the seamstress fits you again," Jareth sighed, suddenly dropping backwards on the table. He folded his arms under his head and stared meditatively at the ceiling, at the brass carving of the sun that dangled so alluring against the brick, waiting to catch the sunlight and reflect it around the room. "She should be in tomorrow morning."

Robert was silent.

Jareth conducted a quiet experiment to alleviate his boredom. And to satisfy himself. He raised a hand, carefully taking the glove off, crooking a finger as he sat up again.

Robert came to him, let himself be pulled close between those sleek legs, and went down quite easily on his knees. No protests, no resistance. He did what was expected of him.

Jareth tipped up his chin and carefully catalogued those features in his mind. Very fine features, indeed. He remembered the mortal mask and was glad to see that had gone. "Now," he ordered simply.

It didn't take as long as Sarah; Robert was far more in control of his magic and his body than she was. A bare five minutes later he was done, masculine features softened and masculine body rounded.

Jareth felt a satisfied smile tug at the corners of his mouth but he only gestured to Robert to get up and turn.

She did. Very slowly. Very gracefully. Just the way she knew he wanted her to behave.

A tall woman, certainly, fully equal to Jareth's height. Brown hair down to her shoulders and no longer. Curvy, soft and padded in all the right places.

"Well done," Jareth complemented softly, drawing her back between his legs, "Welcome back, my dear."

Robert let herself be kissed, let herself be touched. Let those hands map out the angle of her hips and the weight of her breasts. And she opened her mouth to that gentle tongue without the least hesitation. It was exactly what she knew was expected of her.

Jareth, for his part, was quite enjoying himself. Robert's female form was far more inviting than his male form.

White fingers dug into slender arms and Robert gasped a little but didn't pull away. Pressed a little closer, in fact, as if to offer comfort. As if to offer to alleviate whatever it was that made Jareth want to bruise her.

The next morning, the seamstress found herself at the Castle again, standing in a familiar courtyard and taking out her measures again.

The other one was a picture in blue and tan. So like the Goblin King, wasn't he? The seamstress had been quite happy to fit someone so well-formed and graceful. Fitted styles, yes, with all the fanciful rigging that could fit on a limited piece of cloth; that one's innocence could carry it.

But this one… this one was perplexing. Tall and willowy, with long limbs and a delicately shaped neck. Almost asexual. A puzzle to figure out what style suited.

"Simplicity," the Goblin King had demanded, an arm about that slender female waist, "Nothing too fancy."

The seamstress nodded and looked over her snippings. "Greens, certainly," she offered, "Yellows and browns."

"Pinks?" Jareth asked.

"Perhaps not, Your Majesty. Not for her complexion."

"I meant rose."

It was best to agree with that tone of voice. "Perhaps, yes. Your Majesty. We could try. Might I suggest an apple green? With black."

"Formal or informal?"

"Formal, of course. The informal gowns will make themselves. It is the formal gowns that need to be perfection."

"And you suggest green with black trimming?"

"Yes, Sire."

Jareth contemplated that. The seamstress held up the length of apple green and it definitely looked good. Those brown curls and green eyes were perfectly foiled by such a light, fresh colour. But. "No," he answered, shaking his blond head, "Something else. Something different. Every lady with brown hair or green eyes will wear apple green. And they will team it with black."

The seamstress sighed and put the cloth down. "As you wish, Sire. Might I enquire if you have some colours in mind?"

Jareth cocked his head and looked Robert up and down again, picturing the potential scene in mind. "White," he said, "With… black. Yes, white and black."

His colours. His usual attire. The worlds would know what the subtle reminder was, even if they wouldn't think it in words.

"Extravagant cloth," he ordered, "But simple. No embroidery. No lace. No ribbons. No feathers. A print, if you have it. Yes, a print. Nothing self-coloured."

The seamstress was a little flustered. No one used prints for a formal occasion. No one! It wasn't done! It wasn't right! Prints were for the day, when one could be playful and bright and- and… informal. But to disagree with the Goblin King was not an action she wanted to take.

Jareth knew best.

So she nodded, dumbly, and got on with the task of hastily contriving a few less formal gowns for more intimate times. A light cream gown for a morning occasion and a pale yellow for an afternoon.

"Gloves, shoes and various other bits and pieces," Jareth reminded her, "Those need to be arranged."

The seamstress nodded. "Tan gloves for daywear, Sire, white or black for the evening?"

"White for evening, tan leather for daywear. Shoes?"

"To suit the gowns, Sire. The shoemaker will arrive this afternoon. He will take the fitting himself. Ah, other more personal items, Sire? I will need to fit for those, too. Particularly with certain of these gowns; they require special…"

"Inside," Jareth said shortly.

The seamstress felt her shoulders tense when the Goblin King showed no signs of decently leaving, but then Robert was leading her inside and casually undressing before her. She averted her eyes hurriedly.

Jareth raised an eyebrow at the sudden prudery. "Are you embarrassed?"

The seamstress swallowed. "Er, no."

"In her clan, they feel no shame with their bodies," Jareth kindly informed her, "You shouldn't either."

The seamstress left as soon as she could, promising she would have results in two days. She promised to return to make the fittings and then she was gone, flushed and stammering and clearly glad to make it out.

Robert made to dress again but Jareth stopped her.

"I had forgotten," he told her, "How you looked."

Robert kept her arms to her side, allowing the finger that ghosted down her stomach and drew a tiny pattern on her abdomen. She even smiled a little, because Jareth was looking into her face and he wasn't touching her to gain anything but just because he could. And because he liked touching her. And that wasn't a danger in itself.

"You have always been beautiful, truina. Did I tell you that before?"

Before sometimes meant many things. This time both knew the specifics. And Robert tilted her brown head and looked into those strange eyes. "You were kind before."

"And then I wasn't?"

"You were just."

"But not kind," Jareth guessed, "Not by the time you were pregnant."

"You did what you had to do." Still soothing him, for some strange reason, telling him that everything was alright and that he had been everything that was good. Because that was what an iigawa did. More to the point, that was what an iigawa believed.

The finger drifted just a second more and then withdrew. Jareth stepped away and nodded. "I'll send Sarah down here. Dress, and then give her practise in all the ways she is to behave. I'll find you when my work is done."

Robert nodded and left it at that.


	31. Chapter 31

"So Dad's not coming home?" Toby asked.

"He has work, Toby. Have you finished your homework?" Karen asked, distractedly scrubbing at a tabletop, "Hand me the polish, dear."

Toby passed it over and curled up on the sofa again. "But he said he'd be back in two weeks and you keep saying he's still at work. Two weeks was up ages ago, Mom."

"Were they?"

"Yeah, they were. You're evading the issue, Mom."

"Don't you take that tone with me, young man." It was a mechanical answer, without any heat or real intent in the tone. Karen was concentrating on her table and it showed. Her hair tied back in a ponytail and her sleeves rolled up, she didn't even glance up when her son sighed heavily.

"I wish Dad was back," Toby complained, "He never yells at me."

Karen clicked her tongue but shook her head at him. "I'm not always yelling at you, you know. We can do fun stuff, too."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"We could go to a movie," Karen suggested, grinning momentarily up at him.

The table was done and she thankfully relinquished the duster with a huff of satisfaction. She loved her furniture, picked with such care and deliberation. She took pride in her house. And why not? Why should she settle for anything less than perfection? So what if Robert wasn't around to help her? She could manage without him. She was set on doing just that.

"So?" She asked, stretching out in jeans and shirt, smiling at her son. Robert would have recognized the way she gently forced the tension from her frame. A very strong woman, indeed; great strength of character. "How about it? Want to go for a movie?"

"With my mother?" Toby obviously had a little trouble with the concept. He hedged, checking to see what the catch would be. "What kind of movie?"

"I don't know. You can pick."

"Um… no, you won't like that one. And I'm not watching that with my mother!"

Karen raised an eyebrow. "And just what kind of movies do you watch that you don't want me to see? Toby?"

He actually blushed. "Mom!"

"Alright, alright. I won't ask. What else do you do that's fun?"

"I rollerblade, Mom. I don't think you can do that."

"Why not?" she teased, "I bet I could. If I tried."

"No!"

"Ashamed of your old mother, is it?" She laughed, more amused than put out.

Karen reasoned that it was perfectly natural for young boys to hate appearing in public with their parents. Toby was such a shy child he often died an embarrassing death getting dropped to school.

"You're not really going to come out rollerblading, right?" Toby asked anxiously.

"I promise I won't."

"For a while there I wasn't sure."

"Well, I'm sure you haven't done your homework," Karen retorted, "Go on. Upstairs and do it. Or else I'll make you sit in the kitchen with me and do your homework there!"

"I'm going. I'm going. See me going?"

"Oh, I'm watching you alright, mister."

Toby bounded up the stairs with a sudden whoop and a yell to no one in particular that the elephants were stampeding.

Karen shook her head and got tiredly to her feet, picking up duster and polish, casting a resigned glance at the discarded glass sitting so properly on the carpet. Toby never remembered to pick up after himself. Karen let him get away with it occasionally, when it was too much trouble to get him back to the scene of the crime.

At least he was laughing again. She'd go easy on him for a while, try to have a little fun with him.

Robert had always been the one to take him out. Played with him. Even as a baby. Robert had gotten up every night to put him back to sleep when he woke up; Robert had handled his questions when he grew older.

Of course, between Robert and Sarah, Toby's head had been filled with castles and kings and faraway fairytales, but Karen had always been outvoted on that. She guessed that the overindulged imagination was responsible for the stampeding herd of elephants.

A strange boy, her Toby.

She supposed he took after Robert. Just like Sarah.

Strange that she hadn't heard from Sarah in so long. There was something wrong there, of that she was certain. All those long absences and then there was no reply to all the messages she left on her phone.

Perhaps Sarah was angry with her about Robert?

Well, they were close. Karen was uncomfortably aware that Sarah might see her as the bad guy in everything. It would explain why she didn't want to speak to her.

But then Sarah didn't seem to want to speak to Toby either, and Sarah was fond of Toby. She'd never gone more than a few months without at least a phone call. Or a letter- one of those cartoonish, scribbled letters that Toby loved getting from his big half-sister. Monthly installments of some story or other. Karen preferred to close her eyes to that nonsense.

Noelle had called to say Robert wasn't anywhere to be found either.

Karen tightened her jaw. If he hoped to put things off by simply disappearing, then he had another think coming. Of all the rotten nerve! To just leave like that without even trying! If he'd been at all interested in staying with her and Toby, he would have stayed.

Good riddance. Just as her dad had always said. Good riddance.

Sarah didn't recall anyone ever having said 'good riddance' to anything. At the moment, he didn't have the time to recall very much at all, spending his time fighting a losing battle with himself and Jareth. The more he lost to Jareth, the more he lost himself.

It was keeping him awake at night, shaking in impotent fury at the indignities of the day.

Jareth had introduced him to the King and Queen of the Vherders. Sarah had done as he'd instructed because Jareth had threatened to lock him in his room and keep him there if he couldn't behave.

Behave! As though he were a child of ten. As though he were Toby!

Sarah was fast losing any goodwill he had ever felt towards the Goblin King.

Behave, indeed!

He'd behaved, alright. Because he had enough common sense to know that Jareth was trying to make him into a respectable Peshawa and that included correcting him in public if need be. And Sarah had his pride. He would get no help in the Underground and he wouldn't stand to be made to look like a disobedient puppy in front of important people.

So he had fumed and put up with the indignity of wearing what Jareth ordered him to wear and the indignity of Jareth's skillful fingers applying slight touches of make-up to his face, and then he had swallowed his bad humour and treated the King and Queen of the Vherders to as well-trained a version of a Peshawa as he could manage. It had seemed to go off without a hitch.

Until he's seen Robert.

Bad enough he had to keep changing genders, but to see his father as a woman was a disturbing sight in the extreme.

And he had foolishly lost himself enough to gawk in full view of everyone else and say "Dad" in just that shocked, outraged way that most bratty Aboveground teenagers used.

Jareth hadn't liked that.

The King of the Vherders- what was his name- had frowned at her in perplexity as if she'd just calmly laid an egg in polite society. The other one, the Queen- Beatrice- had been a little less astonished. She had looked from one to the other with the genuine good humour of someone who was curious.

And for that Sarah had counted himself grateful. Queen Beatrice was not disapproving; she didn't act as if she thought a Peshawa should be put over someone's knee and spanked like a bad child for mistakenly speaking rudely in public.

Sarah hadn't understood. He'd been grateful for the one kind face even if it was a shock to see someone so patently normal in such a regal setting.

Until Jareth had taken his arm and said, "Have I mentioned that this is my daughter?" in the most dulcet tones.

Sarah shivered in anger in her bed just a little harder, her left hand rising to touch the bruises on her right arm. That grip had hurt. For five minutes Jareth had stood there with the most charming smile on his face, laughing away all the questions and exclamations of surprise and all the while his fingers had tightened and tightened into the flesh of Sarah's arm until Sarah had almost had to break his vow not to show how much it hurt.

It had not been a success.

"Why by Fate can't you keep your mouth shut?" the Goblin King had snarled, pushing her into her bedchamber with a forceful shove. "All you had to do was greet them, evade their questions politely and then sit down!"

"I made a mistake," Sarah had shouted back, "I'm sorry!"

"Oh, you will be much sorrier for this, Sarah. Get to bed, now."

"You can't order me around." It had been tired frustration more than anything else that made her try again. Try; try; try again. Keep trying in the hope that sometime it might work.

"I will order you around." Jareth hadn't even had to put a lot of force into his words; the young face before him was crumpling already. Sarah had put up her hands to hide her face, yes, but not before he saw the resignation spark in that grimace. "Get used to it."

"Why the hell are you doing this?"

"Because you have to be controlled," he had told her, "And since you can't do it yourself, I have to. Go to bed."

"So I'm going to be kept locked up in my room tomorrow because I messed up, right? Will I still get to eat?" Sarah had snarked.

The sharp features had darkened. "I have never starved anyone, least of all my daughter. But now you put me in mind of it that can be the next step. Never be too clever, Sarah, or you might find yourself in a position you don't like."

Sarah had thrown up his hands in sheer rage and whirled away. He had stalked to his bed and defiantly begun to undress.

Jareth hadn't had the decency to leave right away. Even when those green eyes had stared malevolently over a shoulder at him. He had just raised his eyebrow and stared right back, perfectly calm.

Sarah had turned back around and folded his arms across his bare chest, chin tipping up in an impossible new show of pride.

Jareth had taken his time, had watched him, a smirk surfacing from the depths of nowhere. And then he had waved his hand and abruptly Sarah had found himself undressed and in bed, Jareth smirking at him from the open doorway as he prepared to depart.

"Goodnight, Sarah." He had waved his hand again and the lights had gone out with a click and plunged the room into darkness.

Which left Sarah exactly where he was- shaken and infuriated and unable to sleep.

And so incredibly tired of everything.


	32. Chapter 32

Kelpyrne- gargoyles except that they are not constructed. They are living, breathing, thinking persons with sharp, horse-like ears and feathered wings. They live amongst the Labyrinth and are extremely hard to spot.

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There was no contract signed but Jareth set a crystal into the clawed hand of a carving of a kelpyrne.

"A reminder," he said, "I will place the image of the child I think suitable into the crystal. It will illuminate to tell you when it has a new image to be viewed. It will not store them because once rejected, the child is lost to you forever. For what you want, anyway. It will also communicate with me when you decide."

Beatrice nodded and examined the statue more closely. "Who did these?" she demanded, "The work is crooked."

"The work is by Linbrook, Beatrice. I would never give you a substandard piece of art."

Jareth barely glanced at the statue himself, more concerned with the crystal inlaid in those metal claws. "It responds to your magic, Niko, but only for the purpose it is meant to serve. Nothing else. It won't allow communication on any other matter. Is that acceptable?"

"Perfectly." Niko was thankful enough that he wasn't being given an absolutely free link to the Goblin King. Four days with the man was already more than enough.

In less than another four days, Sarah found himself in a closed carriage being pulled through an enormous ornamental forest by three strange creatures that looked like some warped, twisted version of men made from clay.

Robert sat beside him and Sarah sighed as he pondered how hard it had been to get more than monosyllables from his father of late. Even during the long journey to the Allorn Courts.

He went back to staring out of the window, refusing to acknowledge that his father was just sitting there, turning a crystal over and over in her hands.

Jareth could feel the gentle Peshawa magic as he made his much swifter way to Beinheir. It was not necessarily a bad thing but he concluded that it was distracting. In a rather nice way. He concentrated on the ride instead.

The sleek cat beneath him was making excellent time and the Goblin King calculated that he would be there well before the carriage reached the palace. All the better. He could make all the suitable arrangements necessary before Oric began her little games. He had his suspicions about her charming letter begging to meet with him and his family.

He saw the sentinel in his post tower go to the mirror at the sight of him. The first flash and he rested assured that the palace would know to expect him in a few moments.

The landscape was said to be beautiful; Greville hadn't wanted to spoil the magnificent effect of his palace with a view of other people's houses. Jareth personally found it more entertaining to watch the day-to-day life of the goblins in the Goblin City than the neverchanging panorama of grass and trees. The wildness in him rebelled at the all the perfectly maintained aura of loveliness. It looked lovely, but Jareth knew his nature- he would grow tired of it very soon.

He found it disconcertingly apt to the state of his private life.

The palace did know to expect him. The watchtower chain had sprung to life in an instant and there was news that the visitor had a royal standard bearer following him close behind. Jareth wondered if they remembered that he never traveled with armed escorts. If trouble came his way he was sufficiently powerful to deal with it. And if he wasn't, he would use his brains. Travelling with more than one companion only hampered him, and so he selected a standard bearer for the simple purpose of advertising his identity.

The drawbridge in the outer gate was let down as he approached. His cat faltered for a moment and then slowed to a gentle pace as she crossed over the wooden structure.

The standard bearer lowered his black standard in deference to the fact that he was in the territory of Allorn Royalty. Considering it was the Allorns, he would be punished for insulting the Reigning Queen if he didn't. They took their customs very seriously. Besides which, his arms were hurting keeping the thing upright.

"Salute!"

The guards sprang to gleaming attention and Jareth's cat came to an immediate halt with the barest touch on the brindle.

The Goblin King dismounted and stretched discreetly in the sun before rising slowly up the interminably long set of entrance stairs that Greville had chosen to put at the front of his palace. Jareth found them ridiculous but didn't say so.

The heavy wooden doors were thrown open and Clairen came forward to greet him.

Jareth raised a cold eyebrow and stopped just short of reaching distance from his welcome committee. "So this is the way of it," he said softly.

"Your Majesty, forgive this unfortunate beginning to what we hoped would be a pleasant stay in Beinheir," Clairen said hurriedly, his sweet smile adopting apologetic tones, "But Her Royal Majesty Queen Oric is contending with some urgent business. She asked that I convey her distraught regrets at such a state of affairs and bid you welcome in her name."

With such a perfectly executes speech of apology and welcome, Jareth knew better than to turn around and leave. So he conjured up a smile and nodded graciously. "I hope her business is concluded soon and to her satisfaction."

Clairen beckoned a lady forward and presented her. "The Duchess of Jopher, Your Majesty."

"May peace and rest come to you in our care," the lady said haughtily, holding out her hand.

Jareth knew the Duchess of Jopher extremely well. He took her hand but used it to draw her closer, chastely kissing her on both cheeks. "You grow far too lovely, My Lady Evelyse."

"Sir, unhand me this minute!"

"And still fond of dramatic prose too," he laughed.

Those blue eyes melted and she smiled at him, rising up on tiptoe to return the kiss. "Cruel King of the Goblins," she sighed theatrically, "You flaunt yourself before my eyes knowing full well that my warm regard is forbidden."

"As to that, my carriage rides at a slower pace behind me," Jareth informed her, not in the least put out by the flirting, "The luggage wagon was sent on ahead. Has it reached?"

She smiled invitingly and guided him into the cool palace. "Your room is ready and awaits, King Jareth."

Jareth followed her with a challenging smile of his own, enjoying the give and take more than he had thought he would. After so long with a near silent companion and goblins, he appreciated the charms of a pretty woman with intelligence. He enjoyed the marble floor after the constant motion of his cat and he enjoyed the cool, dimmed air after the heat of the sun.

"And where am I staying this time?" he asked.

"In the Chapel suite. You do like those windows, do you not?" She gazed back at him in mock anxiety.

"Admirable windows. My mate will stay with me," Jareth said calmly. He watched her, noted the uncertainty that trembled on her lips for just an instant. "You remember my Peshawa. Robert will share my quarters, as he has always done. The other may be put into a separate room."

"Of course, Your Majesty. The suite beside yours was reserved for both your companions. Will that still be acceptable? It may house one as easily as two."

"That is acceptable. And now to more pleasant topics. How is the Duke of Jopher?"

"Very well. He is at Court at the moment, Your Majesty. My brain could not be bothered with such fustian so I came to greet you."

"I'm flattered. How many others will you greet as well?" he teased.

"Your Majesty! That is almost an insult," she preened, looking more pleased than insulted at the allusions to other pet flirts. "You know it is mere playacting with them. I enjoy it so much more with you."

"Careful, Lady Evelyse. Your tongue is slipping away from you," Jareth warned.

She flashed a more than intelligent knowing look up at him as she grimaced in agreement. "Yes, that was too bold, was it not? You always caught me out."

"I wanted to catch you out. My ego needs sustenance and you supply it so prettily."

She laughed at him and put a hand through his proffered arm, walking with him as she broke off from the friendly joking to tell him of the news at Court.

"The three levels are growing blurred," she informed him soberly, "The Duke is quite worried. He says that decisions and discussion will take longer to resolve, now, since the dissolution of the three rings will mean that the power is distributed to more than is good for the Court."

"It does sound a reasonable concern," Jareth said politely.

"You are not interested in such news, are you?"

"Vilely bored," he confessed.

"Very well, then. Let us change the topic- here is your suite." She opened the door and went in.

Jareth paused for a second and processed the news. Evelyse was always good for a few intriguing facts that no one else knew. And being a member of one circle so closely allied to a member of another, her artless commentary was very insightful. Jareth was resolved to test the waters a little before he departed.

"Wonderful," he complemented, "Remind me again; who designed those windows?"

"Hargrey Mopp," she supplied, "Thin little man. Very quiet. No one even noticed him until he presented this design at the Showing." She rested a dramatic hand on a diamond paned, coloured glass window. "Just see the harmony. The colours and how they melt together in light on the floor."

Jareth watched her instead, but nodded amiably when she looked at him with inspired brown eyes that seemed to take it for granted that he was as awestruck as she was.

She left the window and shook herself out of her artistic thrill with a snap of her supple wrist. "I shall leave you to rest, now. You must be tired."

"Not at all. The company is refreshing."

"Do not tempt me, Your Majesty. I shall stand here all day else and trade words with you."

"You have a talent for them," he shrugged, "Will your work be presented during all this long festival?"

"Three days is not long."

"It will be if your work won't be there to interest me."

"I have a short play scheduled in the bower for the second midday."

"Then it won't be a wasted trip. Thank you for your welcome, Lady Evelyse, Duchess of Jopher, and present my compliments to both your Gods and your husband."

"My Gods?"

"They created you. I always give credit where credit is due."

She shook her head at him and left, shutting the door carefully behind her.

Jareth took the opportunity to go to the bedchambers. Both were done up in cool blue and dark greens, the perfect colours for rest. The linen on his bed was decked with elaborate red quilting but it was comfortable. His cases were nowhere to be seen so he assumed that his luggage had been unpacked and stored away.

His eyes automatically strayed to the door that connected the other bedroom. On impulse he went in. The same colours in the windows, even if the patterns were different. The bed was done in soft yellows and he had the flash memory of seeing his lover sleep there, once, a long time ago.

When times had not been so bad. White and pale yellow contrasting with the healthy skin and brown curls. The soft mouth vulnerable and slackened in sleep. Long eyelashes lowered down over closed green eyes.

Jareth went back out again and shut the door.


	33. Chapter 33

Sequant- a salutation; a gesture of greeting or respect used by the Peshawa.

Lathis- Peshawa God. Both this reference and above were from chapter 17.

------------------------------------------------------------

"You remember Robert."

Sarah was sore, tired and very much inclined to sit in a dark room by himself for a while. All of this was too much. People were staring. Openly. And whispering. Openly. Well, whispering so they couldn't be heard, naturally, but they didn't bother to appear as though they were talking about anything other than the exciting appearance of Jareth's two Peshawas.

Robert didn't seem to be very perturbed about it. She stayed to Jareth's right. Sarah occupied herself with trying to figure out why Robert stood at Jareth's right when she'd specifically told Sarah to stay to everyone's left. The problem was a provoking one, and Sarah couldn't reason it out. But it kept her mind from wandering to those imagined things that were being whispered about her so openly in this immensely luxurious palace.

"And Sarah."

Sarah stepped forward and performed the relevant sequant- hands at the chest rising, bypass the lips and go straight to the forehead. The full salute was only for one's mate- either of life or moment. This Clairen fell into neither of those categories.

He seemed to pass muster because no one seemed to find anything out of place about him.

"It's a shame that your Queen is unable to be here," Jareth continued artlessly, "I was looking forward to introducing my daughter to her."

The silence was deafening. Sarah stayed calm and took careful, even breathes. No need to show apprehension. No reason to be shy.

Clairen's smile was almost blinding. "Your Majesty, is this your daughter? But I might have guessed! My apologies, I digress. Let me only say that you and your family are most welcome here in the Land of the Allorns."

"Thank you."

"Your family must be tired. Please, do not let us keep you from some private time to recuperate," Clairen summoned up a slave and had them escorted from the room.

Jareth only dipped his head in acknowledgement and left, quite satisfied with himself. So far so good. Clairen would have the news spread around the Courts by the time the three reappeared. For now, Sarah had passed with flying colours.

"You did very well," he told him, finding him alone in his suite a short time later.

Sarah nodded tiredly and continued to look frantically through his bags.

"I know this is hard, but it is the best way," Jareth stressed, throwing a coat off the back of a chair and leaning against it. "Lannon, I am not doing this lightly."

Sarah gazed at him mutely for a second. "I don't like this," he confessed, "People keep staring and whispering. A few of them are laughing. Doesn't it matter to you?"

"People were going to laugh and whisper no matter how I broke the news. Why should it matter?"

"So it doesn't bother you that you're putting us through hell."

"You're exaggerating the issue, Sarah."

"No, I'm not," he snapped, jabbing a finger in Jareth's direction, "I'm not exaggerating. I know what I saw and what I saw I didn't like. I want to go home. I won't ask to see you again if you want, but I'm not staying to deal with this."

Home. Jareth's first instinct was to be firm and say she couldn't stay at the Castle alone. His second instinct was far more accurate. Sarah didn't mean the Castle; he meant Aboveground. Back to his apartment and job and friends he never saw more than a few times every three months.

"You are at liberty to come or go as you like," he agreed, "But I must ask you to think carefully about what you do."

"I don't want to end up like Dad."

Jareth raised an eyebrow in enquiry.

"He's unhappy. I thought that was obvious."

"That was obvious, yes," Jareth considered, "And you suggest what exactly?"

Sarah sidled a little closer. He had expected Jareth to start barking and turning away by now, but the Goblin King was taking it very well. "You could send him back."

"To what?"

"He just needs to talk to Karen. I'm sure it was all a big mistake. She'll take him back if he apologizes."

Jareth smiled and looked down to admire the shape of his boot. "I don't want to send him back. He was mine first."

"Oh, Lathos, listen to yourself!" Sarah shouted, gesturing angrily to reinforce his point, "You're not talking about a bunch of fucking flowers. You can't own a person, Jareth, and you shouldn't even try. It's only making him hate you."

"I hope so," Jareth considered.

"Now I'm confused. You want him to hate you."

"There are things you don't understand, Lannon," Jareth advised, "Try to remember that I am not a monster."

He rose to his feet and sauntered to the door, pausing just for an instant to offer her a dire warning- "I suggest you stay here unless Robert or I come for you. The palace is substantially bigger than my Castle and much more confusing. Getting lost is not an experience you want."

He shut the door very quietly behind himself and took a deep breath, quite pleased with the day's work.

Sarah was not pleased with the day's work. He rather despised the day in its entirety. And he was not in the mood to follow orders. His very human mind told him that the whole situation was sickening and degrading. He'd been reduced to some kind of party trick- 'watch my slave obey my every order'. Sarah was itching to disobey just once. Fight the damned instinct and disobey if only to teach Jareth a lesson.

"I'm going out," he announced to no one in particular, "And I'll find my way back before he comes for me. That keeps everyone happy."

Pleased, he wondered out the door.

About hour later, he was aware that it had not been a good idea. He'd followed the bright mural on the wall, admiring the idyllic scenes painted with such careful attention. Only, he'd got lost for real and it was beginning to make him nervous.

Sarah looked to the mural but there was no help from that quarter. He'd followed it all over the place and it was beginning to repeat itself in her mind.

Sarah just hoped he didn't run into anyone else. Jareth's dire warning and beginning to make a lot of sense.

"Strange to see you without your keeper."

Sarah jumped and spun around, his heart pounding in his chest. "Oh, it's you." Too late, he realized he should have been a little more polite. "Your Majesty. Forgive my rudeness, but…"

"What for? You said it was I and, in fact, it is I. I stand before you and I see no reason to fault you for pointing it out. In actuality," Saxony continued, adopting his most serious expression, "In actuality I should thank you; you have served to tell me where I am. The palace being so big and my visits here so rare, that fact was bothering me."

Sarah couldn't think of a single thing to say in reply. He was fighting to keep himself under control. No reason to start something stupid because a little cell in her brain told her that this man was attractive.

"It is a wonderful thing, Your Highness, to be found." Saxony bowed to him.

"I don't know where I am," Sarah said hurriedly, "I really can't help you, Your Majesty. I'm lost myself. But I think if we turn this way we could find someone to help us."

"Ah." He straightened up elegantly and offered his arm with an efficient flourish. "It's a good thing I know the way. Not that turn, Your Highness- the next one."

Sarah didn't take his arm. Instead, he took a step backwards, Jareth's warnings not to stray were ringing in his head. This time it wouldn't be his fault. He hadn't lured anyone; he hadn't even said anything vaguely suggestive. He'd just taken the wrong turning and happened to find someone who knew who he was.

Saxony dropped his arm and sighed. "Jareth was a fool to bring you out like this."

"My father is waiting for me," Sarah said, schooling her face to look perfectly unperturbed. No reason to get upset. "He was expecting me minutes ago and will no doubt be looking for me."

"Will he?" Saxony reached down the neck of his shirt and brought out the golden chain that hung around his neck. On the end was a golden eye. "We shall find him with this."

The eye showed the Goblin King in a talk with other men, smoking quietly as two others led a discussion on a topic Sarah couldn't hear. He was listening and watching, sitting apart from the group but no less an audience. Too absorbed for someone waiting to meet with his Peshawa daughter.

Sarah felt his face grow hot with embarrassment, trying to formulate some relatively normal-sounding excuse for it. "He must have forgotten," was all he could come up with.

"I have often found him forgetful," Saxony chipped in helpfully, putting the eye back into his shirt, "Your Highness?" He offered his arm again.

Sarah took it from a lack of options, determined that no matter what there would be no stain on his honour. No matter what happened, he could present his actions with no shame or fear of insult. He even smiled with a polite show of gratitude, remembering to walk in a certain way and move in a certain way and look in a certain way.

Saxony said nothing about the painfully frigid aura that chilled him. In some strange way, he even found it interesting. "There will be a play enacted in the bower on the second midday. Have you heard of the Duchess of Jopher?"

"No. I don't believe I have. Will she be acting in this play?"

"Perhaps. But she is the author and her work is held to be the most controversial in the Allorn Courts."

"I thought Berdin was the favourite playwright. I read his script for 'Amaseur'. It was very pretty."

"Berdin? Mattues Berdin? He is the favourite, yes. But, as you say, his work is pretty. He writes in the style of light legends, creating perfect characters in a perfect world. Evelyse is not concerned with perfection."

"I haven't heard of her. I didn't have the time to find out," Sarah admitted, "The festival was quite a sudden announcement and there is so much still for me to learn."

"It must be hard."

"Not hard. It only takes time."

"Then let me make your work easier," Saxony put in easily, "I insist that you let me show you the wonders of the festival. My Lady Evelyse will present her play in the bower on the second midday but that will be just one of the delights. This evening there will be a game of credit."

"Credit?"

"There are squared painted upon the floor of the Game Room, twenty four in a block. Each player takes one of the outer squares and the game grows from there."

"It sounds confusing."

"An intelligent person will have no trouble with it. I predict you shall be champion by the time you return to the Underground."

Sarah stiffened a little more, impossible though it felt. "You're laughing at me."

"On the contrary," Saxony retorted, "At myself."

"Why?"

"For a peshawa, you have a lot curiosity."

Sarah shut his mouth with a snap, embarrassed and confused again. Angry too, because Jareth had put her in such a situation. Angrier becauseJareth wasn't actually to blame for his predicament with the King of the Gherengh. Jareth had warned him not to leave alone.

"Your room, Your Highness," Saxony broke in.

Sarah looked up with a start and recognized the patina on the polished wood. A thought struck- "How do you know which is my room?" It felt a very important question to ask. Peshawa or no Peshawa, Sarah didn't want any more surprises.

"I made it my business to find out," Saxony told her gravely, "In case of situations."

Something about the way he said it made Sarah's spine prickle. Nodding hurriedly, he dived for the door and vanished inside.

Saxony stifled a grin and moved on, making his way to the Games Room by himself.


	34. Chapter 34

Author's Note: Strange, I see a few new people around here. Hello!

Author's Note2: Nyme is the second major Allorn city. Beinheir is the capital (the palace of the Allorn Queen is a few miles away from the actual city itself, for aesthetic reasons as explained in a previous chapter.)

Author's Note3: Boonans are described below. To make things clear- they are a race of people now used as slaves by the Allorns. They are found near Nyme, but must have been brought to the palace at Beinheir to work.

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Time had passed. The cases were unpacked and gone. Sarah had never seen so many little cases assembled in such a short space of time as she'd seen in the Castle. Jareth had seemed to require quite as many clothes as he did, though Jareth hadn't seemed to be very interested in materials and designs while inspecting the tailor's work on his daughter's behalf.

"Fine," had been the almost absent cursive used to indicate whether the tailor had succeeded in making a passable garment. "Certainly not," had had the snap of a lash for everything Jareth hadn't like.

Sarah had felt horrible. The poor tailor had stammered and blushed and done so much work in such a short time! And he'd thought the clothes were good. But Jareth hadn't selected more than one-fifth of everything by the end of it. And even those had had to be redone.

Jareth.

Sarah wasn't quite sure how to treat him again.

One moment he'd be joking and teasing, the next he'd be issuing orders on something so trivial as what cup to use. Things were only going to get worse at the Allorn Courts, what with everyone else expecting him to be a Peshawa too.

And Saxony worried him. Why did the Gherengh King find out about his rooms? Sarah honestly didn't think that the man would come creeping to his room in the dead of night, but it was a puzzle all the same.

There were still three days left. Sarah was dreading them. The last two weeks had been a nightmare, being thrown into everything from clothing to culture to manners to conversation:

'_It's not good conversation to make a remark on the state of someone's clothing… it's not good conversation to talk about ailments… it's not good conversation to talk about social change… never talk about either the weather or the journey! The dullest people do that… a Peshawa should never talk about politics. It is considered beyond their understanding… try not to be definite with your opinions… try not to give an opinion… try not to judge anything said to you in any way that requires you to even form an opinion…_'

Sarah was beginning to wonder what he could talk about at all. He didn't envision having to talk often since the little he saw of his father as a Peshawa showed him that Peshawa didn't talk much, but if he did have to talk, what was he going to talk about? And what was he going to say while he talked about it?

The goblins didn't treat him as a Peshawa. They respected him, took his orders and his demands, and they saw no problem in Sarah behaving as any ordinary person would behave. Sarah couldn't understand it.

Mika didn't treat him differently and that had been a little embarrassing, after changing, to wake up to a female goblin. Mika had done what she always did- she brought in the tea, she left the tray, she made sure the hot water was poured and ready, she made welcoming good-morning noises, and then she left.

Jareth had simply nodded, asked if he was sore, and dismissed the entire topic at hand.

Robert hadn't even mentioned it.

Sarah sighed and checked the face of the nearest clock. Either the timepiece was running fast or Robert was late. Unmentionably late. And if Robert was late, it was not a good thing. Jareth might get angry, what with the way things stood.

But Jareth was late too.

"Hell, no," Sarah muttered, uncomfortably settling his breeches, "I'm not thinking that. I'm not. I'm not even picturing it."

He roamed restlessly around the room, wondering if Saxony would mention their accidental run-in in the corridors. What would people say?

Jareth would be livid. Sarah had disobeyed him, after all. And God, how he wished he hadn't! It was the most depressing thing to live through, this guilt. Sarah didn't like it. He'd never been this bad before. The more Jareth pushed him to obey, the tougher it became to refuse him.

Sarah felt like he was losing his mind. Literally.

Was that how Robert was? Robert was far more deeply into the Peshawa mindset than Sarah would ever be and perhaps that was how he felt now- unable to live if he didn't have someone else to think for him. Sarah knew his father; Robert must have been torn over the loss of his Aboveground family. Jareth had got to him when he was most vulnerable.

Sarah didn't like the implications. He was reminded of that first morning in the Underground, when Robert had pulled him from his bedroom before sunrise. Sarah had been suspicious of Jareth back then and those suspicions were only growing stronger.

What if this was how Jareth really wanted things? All that talk of survivors and accepting himself- maybe Jareth had only been playing another one of his games, trying to get his own family back. Sarah could see it. Jareth was ruthless enough for it.

And what could he expect in the Allorn Courts?

Sarah sat down at the writing desk and opened the lid.

The glint of dull gold winked at him.

"A earring," he remarked to no one. He picked it up and looked it over. Simple gold. Quite exquisite, really. A tiny rose in full bloom, dangling a pair of crossed swords. Sarah smiled at it. "Gothic," he ended, "Someone likes drama."

The 'someone' had also evidently misplaced her earring. Sarah impulsively lifted his hand to his right ear. The holes were still there; they only closed up every other changing. He fitted it in and fastened the back. The whole thing was heavier than he had expected. Sarah didn't want to know what would happen if he wore it too often.

He took it out and hurriedly put it back. He chastised himself for even being so rude. It wasn't his and he shouldn't have been wearing it. Besides, he wasn't going to wear earrings in his male form; it made him look stupid.

By the time someone knocked at the door, Sarah was ready to cry in relief. He'd been cooped up all day! It was getting on his nerves.

Sarah took a deep breath and remembered his lessons. "Enter," he said calmly.

The door opened and a little tentacled thing slithered into the room.

Sarah blinked at it and tried to place it in his head. "What are you," popped out before he could bite his tongue.

Droopy ears twitched upright and flopped again as the thing proffered a silver tray.

"_Boonan gives compliments, Sir. Boonan brings letter."_

"You're not actually talking, are you?" Sarah demanded.

"_No, Sir."_

Sarah nodded and placed it. Boonans were a native race in the waters surrounding Nyme. Jareth said they were telepathic communicators. The lack of mouth-like features made it obvious why. So he nodded agreeablyand bent down.

The Boonan proffered a silver tray with a thick envelope upon it. The letter taken, it lowered the tray and trailed from the room with a mentally offered whisper of gratitude.

Sarah wasn't listening. He opened the letter curiously and raised an eyebrow at the extravagant purple ink. He raised the other eyebrow when he saw the design painted into the letterhead.

"A rose and two swords," he murmured, "Who is this?"

The room had no reply for him. But the letter did. It wasn't a reply that Sarah was expecting. The person had signed the letter with a simple design of a circle and a square. Odder and odder. Sarah began to gnaw on her lip.

'**I watch you,'** the letter said, **'And I am enraptured. A strange thing, you are- born a Princess, raised as a human, ascending as a slave. So much to her name and nature, and yet the tale is not complete.'**

'**You are curious and I admire curiosities. You seem calm but I sense passion. You look perfect but I can tell the cracks. You are not perfect, are you? Not a Princess; not a human; not a Peshawa. Something more and something less. Something borrowed and bargained.' **

'**Wear the earring and I will come to you. Perhaps our destinies are closer than this letter can convey.' **

Sarah read it twice and went back to the writing desk, flipping up the lid and picking up the earring. The same design of rose and crossed swords. The earring was for him?

Sarah put both down and backed away, green eyes narrowed.

Whoever it was, the person had been in the room before he'd ever got here. Maybe it was a mistake? Perhaps the rooms were mixed up.

Sarah relaxed and let his mind indulge in the pretty story. It was romantic enough, if one thought about it, to be the object of a secret admiration.

The bubble burst just as soon as it had formed.

The letter had been for him. There was no mistake. Who else could be a princess, a peshawa and a human all in one go? Unless there was something Jareth and Robert had neglected to mention.

A vision of Toby occurred and Sarah pushed it away impatiently. He'd seen Karen go through the pregnancy and Karen was right there with Toby. There was no fear that Toby was either prince or peshawa.

Therefore, the letter was to Sarah. Someone, and Sarah had no idea who, was sending him letters that were disturbing. Not romantic, really; nothing about his green eyes or dark hair, no mention of his smile or her figure. The person was watching him, though, that was obvious quite apart from the fact that the person had said he or she was watching.

And now this earring.

Sarah reached out a hand and touched it again. It occurred to her that the letter could be a threat. Perhaps there was something important to know about that line that Sarah hadn't learned about yet. It was possible. There was so much that Jareth took for granted that he knew. Certain sentences were frightening. Being watched was particularly frightening.

At the back of his mind, a little voice sarcastically intimated that Sarah should get used to it. After all, a Peshawa did whatever was required of him, didn't he? That included being watched. No part of his life was actually private, if his owner decided it shouldn't be.

A chill crept through him and he slammed the desktop shut over both letter and earring.

That wasn't what he wanted out of his life. Sarah was determined not to end up like Robert. So he'd do what Jareth wanted for this festival, he would enjoy himself, and he would leave for Earth as soon as he got back. Robert had managed to run away; Hoggle would know how to get him back home.

And Jareth could chase him if he wanted. Sarah would have a few home truths for the Goblin King when it came down it.

He almost wrenched the door off its hinges when he flung it open in defiance.

The boonan was back, holding a silver tray with a letter. It blinked protuberant pink eyes and said, _"Your Highness, a message."_

The droopy-eared little thing proffered the silver tray and Sarah was almost betrayed into trying to make friends. Jareth had warned him against that; the Allorns didn't take kindly to having their servants interfered with. No point angering people on his first evening here. So he took the thick envelope and dismissed the Boonan.

"Thank you," he couldn't help adding.

The Boonan bobbed again and crept out of the room, slithering along on its tentacles.

Sarah looked at the letter and considered throwing it out.

'**Very charming, Your Highness. I am almost certain you are in a state of panic by now. Perhaps I worded myself badly. Please, do not be alarmed. I don't bite… much.'**

Sarah could almost hear the laugh that most certainly must have inspired that little joke. It made him think of his little escapade with the Gherengh King. Not that Saxony would be sending him insane little letters like this. Though, Saxony had known where his room was.

'**Your little meeting with dear Sax shall be our little secret. Your enthusiasm for new things should not be curbed. And it would, painfully, if I know the Goblin King. Discretion, Sarah, is the better part of independence.'**

It said 'Sarah'. That was his name. This insane person really was talking to him.

'**Might I suggest a walk through the grounds this night? If Beauty deserves the best, you and the night certainly deserve each other. Perhaps I shall see you there?'**

Sarah was certain Jareth was blow a fuse over this person. He hid it with the other one in the desk and contrived to look nonchalant when Robert came for him in the evening.

Robert didn't believe it for a second. She narrowed her eyes a little and shut the door behind her. And then she folded her arms across her chest and settled properly on those damned heels. "You're up to something," Robert accused, "I know how you look when you're scared of getting caught."

"I'm not," Sarah protested.

"Sarah, I know you. Please, honey, don't try anything stupid here."

Sarah hadn't been treated like a child for a long time, not since Robert had found out about his first little trip to the Underground with Toby. He might not even have noticed that authoritative snap if he hadn't been so keyed up.

"What am I doing," Sarah demanded, throwing out his arms in an expansive gesture, "I've just spent the whole day couped up here because Jareth said I couldn't leave without one of you! What the hell could I have done in my room?"

"I'm not sure. But I suspect it isn't something Jareth will like."

"Screw Jareth," Sarah said bracingly, "No, wait. You already are."

Robert didn't react. She didn't even blush. She just stared steadily down at Sarah's angry face and unfolded her arms. "Sarah, I warn you that you will not like the consequences if you're caught doing something you aren't allowed to do."

"Who says? I'm not like you, Dad. I do what I want."

"Not here, you don't. Remember that."

Sarah turned away because if he had to look at his father like that any more he couldn't answer for what the testosterone in his blood would make him do. "I don't need Jareth's permission for anything," he emphasized, "You can't order me around. I'm not a Peshawa. I wasn't raised a Peshawa. I don't see why I should be expected to be one."

Robert sighed and shook her brown head. "Jareth said you were ready," she remarked, "I hope he is right."

"Oh, just forget about Jareth for two minutes, why don't you? He doesn't rule your life."

"He does. Will you heed my warning not to test his patience?"

"Let me guess," Sarah offered, "If I'm not I'll have to stay in my room again as punishment?"

Robert shrugged her bare shoulders. "I have to take you down. It's not my duty to discipline you…"

"Discipline me?"

"… Jareth will do that. And he has little patience for disobedience."

Sarah scoffed. But he didn't take the warning lightly. If anyone knew about Jareth's disciplinary techniques, Robert would. From the little Sarah knew of that brief life together before him, there'd been ample opportunity for Robert to find out.

"I'm planning to leave after the festival," he said quietly, "Go back Aboveground."

"That is your choice, Sarah. It's not up to me but I hope you can find your way there. This nonsense isn't for you."

"You tried your best, Dad."

Robert nodded and held out a hand. "We're expected. Shall we?"


	35. Chapter 35

Author's Note: Sorry- so sorry- for the delays. I'm afraid there will be quite a few of those from now on, actually. I have a lot less time on my hands. But be patient and I promise I will resolve this story.

Author's Note: Sorry. Updated for a few mistaken assumptions.

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The Hall was enormous.

Sarah would, as a normal human being, have taken the opportunity to look around in wild enthusiasm for where he found himself, but didn't dare. Jareth had met them at the door and the Goblin King looked to be in an unpredictable mood. Not angry, but right there on the edge- it could swing either way.

He got the barest glimpse of a multitude of statues and then he was being presented to people whose names he couldn't catch because they moved so much.

Tall, thin, spare people. One of them was covered with silver paint, her ethereal features glittering in the candle wheels lit in the ceiling. Her eyes alone were outlined in black and Sarah only remembered her face because the Allorn leaned forward and might have kissed him on the mouth if Jareth hadn't manually turned Sarah's head himself.

The Goblin King passed it off with a mocking aside and a laugh. Something about purity and contract fees, but Sarah was trying to cool the roaring heat in his blood.

Robert seemed to be doing much better. She was treated with almost icy politeness. Sarah wasn't sure if he was upset at this treatment or thankful that he didn't have to witness his father being ogled as a woman.

A brief glance behind him, Sarah noticed that the icy indifference didn't really preclude the ogling. That was in evidence too. Sarah might have grimaced but it wasn't the polite thing to do.

"Your Highness, may I present my wife," a man said, "Lady Evelyse ne Ppietroc."

Sarah made the appropriate obeisance.

The Duchess of Jopher had been extremely surprised to hear about the return of Jareth's daughter. Though her very next thought had been that it should have been obvious. If Jareth had his former mate back, it stood to reason he would have his daughter as well.

The three Courts of the Allorn Kingdom were buzzing with all sorts of news.

Clairen came forward and Sarah recognized him at least. He smiled and saluted the Allorn, hoping he was as graceful as Robert was.

"Your Highness, I see you have met Her Grace, the Duchess," the Clairen said, bowing to the Princess of the Goblin Kingdom.

"I have, My Lord."

"Has Jareth abandoned you here, devn?"

"My Lord," Evelyse exclaimed, "The Princess is not a little girl."

"The Princess will forgive me," Clairen said smoothly, "She is young and I, alas, am old. Besides, I called her 'devn' in her cradle and see no reason to change now."

Sarah raised an eyebrow as they continued to talk about him over his head. It occurred to him that he would do better not to draw attention; they seemed in the mood to talk and Sarah still wasn't sure of how to talk without saying anything. Columnists always had something to say. He didn't know how to be non-committal.

"Yet the Princess is no longer a little girl. She stands before us as a…"

"Young man?" Sarah offered dryly.

Surprisingly enough, Evelyse laughed and didn't take it amiss. "Deliciously funny, at least," she agreed, "Your sire's humour, I take it. Jareth is always the one for mocking everything, including himself."

"My sire does enjoy that, yes." Sarah could think of a dozen instances. _'A piece of cake, is it? Well let's see how you enjoy this little slice.'_ Funny. Very funny. Setting the cleaners on his only child without any more warning than that.

"And he enjoys his old friends too," Clairen continued warmly, gazing around the throng of people, "He must meet N'Eve, by the by. She has something for him."

"I doubt he will accept it," Evelyse retorted, "How are you enjoying the first night, Your Highness?"

'_Don't encourage anyone with familiarity. Let them call you by title.'_ "Very much, Your Grace. Her Majesty Queen Oric has a beautiful palace."

"Not her, my dear," Evelyse whispered, leaning in to share ages-old gossip with new relish, "The late King designed it."

"As a gift to his bride," Clairen said sternly, "Behave!"

Evelyse giggled and patted Sarah's shoulder. "I shall tell you more when we are rid of him. For now, Your Highness, I must excuse myself. There is a friend beckoning me."

Sarah smiled and watched her go, unable to be comfortable left alone in Clairen's presence. He looked around for Jareth but the Goblin King was talking to another male, Robert standing at his right hand.

"Ah, old friends, indeed," Clairen said gaily, "That is Leeman Brace, from Nelderbrae. By the next festival, devn, you will have old friends to meet too."

Sarah smiled and wondered why the Allorn wore flowers in his white hair. The fashion amongst the men of the Courts seemed to be very masculine, if a little bright. Beards, moustaches, coattails, tight trousers and boots- Clairen was a peculiar mixture of fashionable and beyond fashion. Sarah supposed it was to do with his position. From the little he remembered of Jareth's lessons, no one was going to tell the most powerful man in the kingdom that he looked effeminate.

"Your Highness, might I present an old friend of mine," Clairen broke in, hand on a higher shoulder and sweet smile just a little wider, a little more affectionate, "Vernon ne Rasal. You may borrow him from me if you like. Opmi, I believe you know Her Highness, Princess Sarah of the House of the Ferendi."

Vernon had been startled. To bring such a creature here was to ask for trouble. Clairen had not been very willing to introduce the two, reminding the diplomatic messenger of how badly the Goblin King had taken his flirtatious interest in his mate.

Vernon had shrugged it away and insisted.

"Your Highness," Vernon murmured gravely, lifting Sarah's hand and kissing the tips.

Bereft of his hand, Sarah couldn't make any obeisance at all. So he bowed until he could quite carefully take his hand back. He half-expected Vernon to refuse, but the Allorn let go without a murmur.

"Ullal, Her Majesty requires your presence."

The Queen's right hand looked startled and a little worried. But he nodded, excused himself and made his way swiftly from the hall.

"Opmi? Are you a Peshawa?" Sarah asked breathlessly.

"Pardon?" Vernon didn't think he had heard things right. The Heir to the Underground could not possibly be insulting him. He had not even provoked him yet. "I don't understand."

"Opmi," Sarah repeated, "He called you 'Opmi'. Like the Peshawa clan."

The insult melted away and Vernon had to laugh. "No, no, Beauty. 'Opmi' simply means, ah, a younger or a lower ranked person who is special. It is hard to explain, but Clairen will refer to me as 'opmi' because he has been a mentor to me, a person I can go to without fear of irrational rejection. The Peshawa clan bears a similar name because it is taken from the Allorn language. They are called the Opi."

"I didn't know that."

"The Peshawa clans were all discovered at different times. Your clan has been known the longest, since it has been a traditional hunting ground for the Vraul for centuries. The opmi clan was known about, but never really discovered until Allorn explorers worked with a team of vraul and iigas to find it. Even the iigas were never really sure of the clan's exact dwelling area. The opmi came to them, you see, for mates and servants and other wants. The iigawa never traveled."

Sarah scratched his head in bemusement and thought that there was far too much to learn in such a short space of time.

"But now is not the time for history. Come, take a walk with me."

"I think I should stay here."

Vernon shushed him with a brief touch to the lips, smiling in that bright way of his. "One often says, 'When the sun has set and the pale moon reigns, it is the spirit's work to provide the brightness.' The sun has set. And the moon has yet to be acquainted with you."

'_If Beauty deserves the best, the night and you deserve each other.' _

Sarah swallowed and realized Vernon could probably feel that against his fingertips. He blushed, stepping backwards to escape the touch. "I must ask Jareth first," he insisted. Knowing Jareth, hopefully Vernon would prefer to leave him be than…

"Naturally. Come. Take my arm and we shall find him together."

"A- arm?"

"As a gentleman would, Beauty."

"I am not a lady," Sarah snapped, stung by the flippant words, "Do I look like a lady to you?"

Vernon shook his head again. "Not that way," he murmured gently, "A gentleman and a lady will assume a certain position. The gentleman will crook his arm to a greater degree; the lady will place her hand on or close to the curve of his elbow. With us, Beauty, I will not curve my arm more than to allow the movement of your hand, and your hand is farther away from the angle of my elbow in either direction. Like so."

Sarah blinked and adjusted his fingers a little. The warmth of Vernon's side was distracting, but with a little concentration Sarah was sure he could forget all about pulses and flesh and friction.

"Loosen your grip, Beauty, I will not go anywhere without you," Vernon laughed, "Come. He was with Brace, wasn't he? He can't be too far from him now."

Sarah nodded and found the grip on his arm had a more practical use than just politeness. The crowd was thick and Vernon threaded easily through it without more than a smile and nod, occasionally touching someone on the shoulder to speed his way, but the crowd flowed back a moment later. If there had been a gap between them, Sarah would have struggled on his own.

"A glass of wine?" Vernon asked, suddenly stopping before a floating tray. "No? No, I am not trying to get you drunk, Beauty. Move on."

"Stop calling me that."

"Beauty? But I always call you that."

"I bet you call a spade a spade," Sarah snapped, "For the purposes of this conversation, I would prefer it if you didn't."

"As you command, Your Highness," Vernon said peaceably. Perhaps a little indulgently. "May I call you by name?"

Sarah had a definite answer for that. She took a lot of satisfaction from that answer- "No."

"As you wish," he said again.

Jareth watched them from his side of the room, absent mentally from the conversation directed his way. Robert took up the slack expertly.

The moment the nameless diplomat passed on, the Goblin King clicked his tongue in annoyance, and nodded imperceptibly towards the oblivious couple heading towards the exit. "What are they doing?"

Robert looked and said, "Walking to the gardens, it seems," in a colourless tone.

Jareth bit back a particularly pungent reply to such an obtuse statement. He couldn't hide the glimmer of irritation, however, so he directed it to the large statues scattered in random patterns around the low-ceilinged hall. The statue was joyfully breaking his back heaving a basket of stone. His stone face was half-hidden by a cowl but those sightless eyes were turned to the sky with a worshipful stare.

The sight was not comforting.

"Will you stop her?" Robert murmured unexpectedly, laying a timid hand on a green-clad shoulder.

"The little fool knows not to do that," Jareth said acerbically, "Any trouble is now her fault."

"She's just a kid, Jareth."

The Goblin King turned his head sufficiently, unmatched eyes narrowed to hear the smallest hint of pleading enter the fluid voice.

"She doesn't understand." Robert fidgeted, eyes turned down. "You can't leave her to do this alone."

"I told her not to go," Jareth remarked mildly.

Robert clammed up.

Sarah was almost at the exit, his hand still tucked into Vernon's arm. Like some simpering young boy with his first lover, Jareth thought darkly. Stupid, stupid, little girl. He'd issued his warnings. He'd given him instructions: Sarah was not to go anywhere, do anything, say anything that could possibly be more personal than 'yes, this is a beautiful hall and I especially like the sculptures'.

"She's gone," Robert said heavily, "Pray the Gods she is safe."

Jareth touched the Peshawa's arm in warning and instantly the mask slipped back down. A pity, but there it was. Saxony was bearing down on them with a gleeful look on his face that promised difficult questions. The Goblin King could not afford to prove inadequate to the task.


	36. Chapter 36

Author's Note: Obscenely long chapter. It's to make up for not updating in two weeks.

-----------------------------------

"Look at the stars, Your Highness, are they not marvelous?"

Sarah looked up and then he looked at Vernon. "Very beautiful," he agreed.

Sarah chose not to say anything just then. He didn't know how Vernon would receive the news that the stars of Beinheim were small and dim, and that Sarah much preferred the stars over his little town on Earth. He fancied Vernon would take the news quite well, but Jareth had warned him not to make personal remarks. Peshawa weren't supposed to have a mind of their own.

"Your Highness?"

"I saw a very interesting design," Sarah put in, clasping his hands behind his back, "Two crossed swords with a rose above it. I was wondering what it meant."

"You look like Jareth like that," Vernon chuckled.

Sarah hurriedly dropped his arms to his side. Looking like Jareth was exactly what Jareth didn't want him to do. Be that arrogant? Sarah wasn't in the mood to raise a scandal. "The design?" he asked meekly.

Vernon pointed to a fallen tree and said, "It sounds like a standard or a coat of arms. Where did you see it?"

"Oh, just somewhere. I can't remember. Should we sit?"

"Certainly. A rose… I assume you mean the flower."

"Yeah. What else can a rose be?"

Vernon grinned and shook his head. "Crude language is frowned upon in the Palace of the Allorn Queen, Your Highness. Suffice it to say, the Nelderbrae meaning of the word 'rose' is quite different and shockingly dirty."

Sarah blushed without knowing why. "I meant the flower," he said with dignity.

"You blush so prettily, Your Highness. It seems to light up the dark night."

"The rose and swords, Vernon. We're talking of the rose and swords."

Vernon straddled the trunk and rested his hands palm down on the wood between his knees. "You are embarrassed," he commented.

"No. I'm going back to the topic at hand."

"Why is such a topic so important? We are in a garden of surpassing beauty, with the soft moonlight threading silver through the dark foliage. The stars are echoed in your eyes and in the glitter on your coat. The air is sweet with the scent of flowers and cool with fresh water. And you, Your Highness, want to have a serious discussion."

The sheer bewilderment in his voice seemed genuine enough.

Sarah stood up and cleared his throat. "There's been a mistake. I only came out here to talk and see the garden. I'm sorry if you misunderstood."

"I didn't misunderstand, Your Highness," Vernon soothed, "By all means let us talk. But not fettered by a topic, I think. We are alone here and we can talk of anything and nothing. I really do think we should."

"Talk of everything and nothing?" Sarah echoed, not comprehending.

Vernon bounded up and threw out his arms in an all-embracing gesture. "Forget the formal drawing rooms. We are only two people in the world, two equals in a garden."

Unbidden, Sarah thought of the Garden of Eden. Only, Vernon was the snake and Sarah himself seemed to be both Adam and Eve, tempted and temptress. He half-expected Vernon to produce an apple next.

"We're not equals," Sarah said quietly, "We should remember that."

"Oh?" Verno leaned in closer, as though to whisper a secret while he looked into his eyes, "Sarah, how do you rank equality?"

With such a question, it was almost petty to ask for a formal title.

"I will not call you by title, and do you know why? You are not equal to it. Not by the unspoken strictures that define the role you are to play."

Sarah raised an eyebrow.

"You may wear the clothes and Jareth may produce you with the ceremony, but you do not even have the legitimacy of a true Peshawa. You are neither fit to be the heir of your sire, or your dam. Neither Peshawa or Princess. According to the, er, fine print of such things."

The letter, Sarah wondered, how did Vernon know what the letter contained! And why bring him out to the garden- moonlight!- if he didn't somehow know about the letters?

"You, Beauty, are exactly as I am- born to a position you will never have the means of succeeding to."

The conversation posed all kinds of interesting deviations. Had Jareth been there, or Saxony, or Oric, or Evelyse, or a score of others more suited to the potential revelations that lurked beneath the surface of those words, the deviations would have been seized upon. For Vernon's luck, Sarah was not yet of a mind to concern himself with anything beyond what directly pertained to his health and happiness. As it stood, Sarah couldn't see the potential revelations.

"You sent the letters," Sarah blurted.

The spell broke, scattering the moonlight caught on brown lashes as Vernon drew back with a frown.

"Those letters. And the earring in the writing desk. That's how you know about that silly rose and swords design. You're playing some kind of game with me, aren't you?"

"Since I have never sent you a letter or an earring, I can't say I am," Vernon replied, "What did the letters say?"

Sarah felt like a fool. "Nothing much. Just said I should see the garden at midnight."

"I see. And the earring?"

"The rooms were probably mixed up," Sarah evaded, "And they got the wrong room."

"Probably. Though… you said the rose and sword design was on the earring or on the letter?"

"Both," Sarah revealed. Reluctantly.

Vernon was swallowing it too easily for someone who knew anything of the affair. Sarah felt such a fool for even bringing it up. He cleared his throat again and shrugged in as nonchalant a manner as he could attain.

He looked back and the lit doors to the ballroom winked enticingly back at him. Oh Helos, to be back there and away from his embarrassing mess. Sarah didn't know how he would look Vernon in the eyes again.

"No," Vernon sighed, "Nothing comes to mind. It might even be a crypto-calligraphic. There are books in the academics' quarters. Those could tell us. However, I haven't the time."

"There's really no need to go looking up books. It's just a mistake. I'm sure."

"Of course, Your Highness. Forgive me. Shall we return to the others?"

"Yes," Sarah said fervently.

Vernon nodded and invited Sarah to walk with him. One sideways glance showed that Peshawa was not, as such, very taken with the garden. Those green eyes were fixed steadfastly on the approaching building, his lips set in a decidedly thin line.

Very much like Jareth, Vernon mused. More so now than lately! The Goblin King was looking rather tense, his usual sang froid vanished in an exhaustive concentration on his mate and child. Everybody had noticed it- his gaze was sharper, his tongue more cutting and his demeanor more serious. His mind didn't seem to move beyond his family, for some strange reason; an unusual state for a previously lively curiosity.

Strange, then, that Jareth didn't know about the letters and gift. Vernon knew he didn't know. If he did, Jareth would have said very openly that whoever was responsible would be facing a very angry and powerful ruler.

Vernon still remembered the Goblin King almost hitting him for an innocent flirtation with Robert. Robert had known it was innocent; Vernon had told him. In much the same way as he would tell Sarah quite soon. Vernon liked pretty people but he didn't want to sleep with all of them.

Jareth hadn't quite accepted that.

Vernon suspected Jareth never would. With anybody. And he wouldn't accept Sarah's new admirer either. Vernon didn't blame him- jewellery was not normally given lightly to a mere flirtation. Anyone giving presents wanted something in return.

They parted at the open glad doors and Vernon vanished away into the crowds. Sarah waited a minute, taking a deep breath before plunging back in.

He spied his parents on the right side of the room and watched dispassionately as Jareth and the man he was talking to- Saxony- moved away. Robert met his gaze for just a second and Sarah had just a second to nod reassuringly to her before Robert was accosted by what looked to be a short young man with a short, brown beard.

"Your Highness," the Duchess of Jopher exclaimed, "You must meet an old friend of mine. Do you like athletics?"

Sarah put a smile on his face and wandered off with Evelyse.

Robert was not having a similar run of luck.

Saxony saw it happen, saw the Peshawa move away distastefully and find her way blocked by a solid wall. Saxony was a gossipmonger but he did have finer feelings. "Jareth," he said swiftly, pointing to the scene over the Goblin King's shoulder.

Jareth turned and lunged.

The Councilman was moving closer when he found himself face-to-face with the coldest stare of dire enquiry he had ever seen. He was close enough to notice that one eye had an enlarged pupil, the iris discoloured a dirty green. The strangest fancy that this eye didn't- like all other eyes- shrink from peering into his head came to mind. It was not a comfortable fancy.

Jareth could Robert behind him, could feel the heat pressing into his back. He raised a supercilious eyebrow and stared the Councilman down some more.

The Councilman took a careful step backwards.

"Stay away from my mate," Jareth murmured, "Or you will find me less than amiable."

"Ah, your mate?"

He hadn't known, Jareth realized. He broke just enough to fold his arm and lower his head a little. "How many years have you traveled?" he demanded.

"Three," the Councilman said frankly, "Forgive me, Sir. I had no idea that you had prior claim."

"Forgiven." Jareth took it for granted that any unaccompanied lady was fair game for anyone. Just not his 'lady'. "Your name?"

"Nilopher," the man said, bowing slightly in the way of the Dross, "Of the House of Aegon."

"One of the Aegon household? In Comlin?"

"No, in Drake. You know our Counties, Sir. Have you lived with us?"

Jareth smiled and stopped covering Robert from view. He brought her forward, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist. "I was raised in Comlin. My family still resides there."

"In Comlin! You are not Drossian and I assume you no longer live in Dross."

"No, I do not. I left some years ago. Possibly before your birth."

"I am not so old."

"But I am," Jareth said.

Robert knew this game. Jareth had always enjoyed this, watching his audience relax and let down its guard. They always did in the beginning, seeing the brusque elegance and thinking rulers had no need for such blatant efficiency. Robert supposed it had happened more often when the Goblin King was more of a story than a person. Certainly Jareth was not unrecognized as much any more.

"Perhaps I know your family," Nilopher suggested, "Your name, if I may ask?"

"Of course, how remiss of me," Jareth chuckled, with not an apologetic bone in his body, "Jareth, son of Zaerpher, of the House of Ferendi."

Robert had always wondered what Jareth would do if someone were to look blankly back at Jareth and apologize for not recalling anyone of that name or address. So far, there had never been such a case, only adding to Jareth's sense of self-consequence. Robert could see the Goblin King's pride swell another inch.

"Oh! Oh, forgive me, Your Majesty. I did not recognize you," Nilopher said quickly, bowing deeply in reverence. "I beg pardon for any rudeness on my part."

Jareth chuckled and nodded. "No rudeness. Just a misunderstanding." He tightened his arm on Robert's waist.

The Peshawa was uncomfortable being held so close. People were looking, and whispering.

"Of course. I must have leave to apologize. Forgive me, I meant no insult, either to you or your mate."

"You may do so yourself," Jareth said incorrigibly, "He speaks more languages than I do so I believe he will understand you."

Nilopher went red, confused by the gender reference. To his eyes, the Goblin King's companion looked female. She wore a dress that highlighted her figure and the plunging neckline did, in fact, show off the soft curves of a highly real female chest. Besides, those hips and legs certainly did not belong to a man! Or was it all an elaborate charade?

Nilopher was not stupid. The only popular breed of people that could fit this gender confusion was Peshawa, which would explain the highly desirable glow that emanated from the woman's calm face. Besides which, rumours had always existed of the secretive life of the Goblin King and he was already known in the Dross Councils for tacitly turning a blind eye to the slave traders. Why not take a slave for himself? He had already done so once before in his life!

"I behaved very badly," he said simply, addressing Robert directly without any form of address at all, "For that I hope you can forgive me."

Robert smiled thinly, a little smug for some reason to see the young man slip easily out of Jareth's prickly verbal traps. "A misunderstanding," he dismissed, "As His Majesty has said."

Nilopher nodded and turned back to the Goblin King. "I am acquainted with a nephew of yours, I believe. Santigue is his name."

"I believe so, yes. The last I heard, he was in the architectural commission to oversee the state of the main temples in the Loyd county," Jareth remarked, settling into the conversation, "Like his father before him."

"Oh, yes. Santigue was a good friend in school, but sadly we are in different counties now. He is still with the commission and it keeps him very busy. The temples being so old and the worship so regular, he cannot take his time with the repairs and restructures."

"No, I see he can't. Do you know Stelman? County of Comlin, last I heard."

"I know the younger. He runs his father's business, providing labour to the outlying farms. It does well. Stelman the elder passed to death some years ago. Is he a relation to your House?"

"Very distantly. Almost negligible, in fact."

Robert shifted but the fingers were still pulling him closer and it would be beyond bad manners to fight the grip, let alone in public. The only way was to relax into it, and lean against Jareth's side.

The Goblin King spared a look for this trusting little gesture. Peshawa did not lean on people; they bent where they were bent and they tolerated uncomfortable positions but they did not lean on anyone unless they were told to or had no other choice. Robert could balance himself perfectly well at the awkward angle. But he chose to lean. The weight wasn't exactly light but Jareth found himself thrown back to an astounding vivid remembrance of another time.

"Excuse me," the Goblin King said smoothly, "I am needed elsewhere. Perhaps we shall talk again."

He swanned away without more than that offhand evasion, moving swiftly through the crowds with Robert in tow. He found Clairen and took the Steward aside. "Where is she?" he demanded.

"Your Majesty, I really cannot understand…"

"Queen Oric. It has been an hour beyond the bounds of common courtesy and she is still not here. Where is she?"

"Her Majesty is ill," Clairen said, "Ill and tired. She regrets that she cannot make it." He'd seen this happen once before, a very long time ago. The distracted look on Jareth's face was not hard to read; most males of any species looked like that at such times. "We have no idea how serious it is. If you feel ill too," he added blandly, "Perhaps you should return to your bed and rest. I can have a doctor sent to you in a few minutes…"

"Rest sounds tempting," Jareth interrupted, "A doctor does not. No doubt it is only the journey. Present my regrets to anyone who asks and give my best wishes to the Queen."

"Of course. Good night, Your Majesty."

Robert also knew that look in the Goblin King's face and she was very resigned to what was to follow. True, Jareth had managed to hold himself back until this point, but it had had to happen some time. At least it was easier in female form. As a male… no, it was not to be thought of. That way lay regret and sadness. Payment, Robert fixed on, payment for Jareth's protection from Nilopher's proposition. And perhaps this time would be pleasurable. Perhaps she could find some way to force her rebellious body to respond.

Robert was still engaged in that task when Jareth shut the door behind himself and leaned against it for good measure.

He was breathing a little deeper than normal, the peshawa noticed, and there was a decidedly final note in his strange eyes. It was not an unattractive look. Jareth was not an unattractive man. Robert could think that with a perfectly detached candour. Unfortunate that she couldn't respond, but then Jareth hadn't demanded a response just yet and Robert just wasn't attracted to him enough to feel it for herself.

"I have had it with this," Jareth grated out.

Robert had expected it to begin with some comment on how she looked or some veiled hint of what Jareth wanted to happen. This had not been how she had thought it would start. So she kept silent and watched him, arms to her side and offering no resistance.

"What is it you want from me?" Jareth continued, "Soft words? Soft hands? Tell me."

No, this was not at all anything Robert recognized. It was familiar but not in a way that made her think it was time to undress or go to him. "What am I to tell you?" she asked slowly.

"Do you trust me?" Jareth asked.

"Yes."

"No, not the prescribed answer, Robert. Tell me the truth; that's an order. Do you trust me?"

Robert took a quiet breath. "I have no reason not to."

"The truth! Do you trust me?"

Strange how he didn't have to raise his voice. Stranger still that he wasn't actually angry. Just frustrated and blunt and desiring to know. Just to know. Nothing else. Because the world didn't depend on the conversation and Robert could afford to answer this right.

"I try," Robert gave him.

"Do you want to trust me?"

"I do."

"Why?"

"Because you want me to."

Jareth was still leaning against the door, hands behind his back and pressing palms first into the hard wood. It wasn't anything new, this conversation. They'd had many like it before. "Do you want to stay with me?"

Ah, the noose. Robert was going to hang himself either way. If he said 'yes', Jareth would likely fly into a rage and force him to submit. If he said no, he would have to stay in any case. The humans had a saying for this- "Might as well be hanged for a goat as a sheep'. He'd never really understood it but he guessed it applied to cases like these. He might as well be hanged for the truth. "I want to go home," he said.

Jareth interpreted it right- "To the Aboveground. Your wife is still there."

"My son, too, yeah."

"But your wife most importantly." Jareth tapped a nail against the door. "Help me understand this, why do you want a woman who would throw you out of your own house- who cannot believe you; cannot protect you- in a world that cannot understand you?"

"She does protect me. But she doesn't… I don't know the word for it."

"Doesn't force you," Jareth supplied ironically.

"Something like that, yes."

The Goblin King nodded and stepped away from the door, one hand lifted to ease the knots from his shoulder. "Then, go. Dance; Sing; Fuck, for all I care. Do what you want. I'm going to bed."

Robert blinked in shock but Jareth was already walking into his room. The Peshawa looked at the door and it didn't feel right to walk straight out. Even with permission. Robert didn't really want to go dancing, or singing, or fucking, for that matter. Staying up in the Chapel suite would, though, leave him with Jareth. And Jareth wasn't in a good mood.

"You're still here?" Jareth asked.

"What about Sarah?" Robert asked.

"She's a smart girl," Jareth remarked, "She can take care of herself." He shook his sleeves out and opened the windows. "I'll be back late."

"Where are you going?" Peshawa weren't supposed to question!

"To my Castle. To check on my goblins."

Jareth was gone before Robert could think of something suitable to say to diffuse the anger in those mismatched eyes.


	37. Chapter 37

Jareth returned far too early the next morning, flying through the window and transforming in the centre of the room. The candles had been lit, at least, and the light was welcoming after flying through the cloudy sky for the better part of an hour.

He blinked owlishly for a while and wiped the rain off his face. Then he managed to get his soaked cloak off his back and sat down.

The goblins were still goblins. It was the best he could say for them. Some were still stupid and some were still smart. Some had been cleaning up the mess in the Castle now that the King was away and wouldn't be bothered by the dust. Jareth wasn't sure if that was the single most stupid thing he'd ever heard, or the smartest.

No more wishes were in the offing, however. There were no scribbled messages pinned up in the post office reporting from the Aboveground. Apparently no one was close to meeting the wish requirement.

The Goblin King was a little sorry for that. It meant he would be stuck in Oric's palace for the better part of a week. Any less and he would insult his hostess.

Who had yet to show her face.

Jareth narrowed his eyes and waved a hand to shut the open window. Carefully, of course. He wouldn't want to ruin the much-admired coloured glass panes.

He had very little contact with the Allorn Queen as a general rule. This business of marrying their kingdoms had been alarming enough to make him draw further away. He had no idea what mad scheme she'd taken into her head this time.

"It could be anything," he murmured to the ornate lamp. He switched it on to take the pressure off his tired eyes.

It was possibly nothing to do with him whatsoever. Jareth readily admitted to vanity but he was usually well aware of his position in the multi-world dimensions of the known universe. It was quite surprisingly how often he found himself in the thick of things.

A very flattering state for the third son of the second wife of a Dross minister.

Jareth smirked to himself and tugged off the heavy ring on his index finger.

"Jareth?"

The Goblin King looked up and nodded. "Have you slept?" he asked curtly.

Robert nodded and didn't approach.

Jareth finally sighed and beckoned him in impatiently. "What's planned for the day?"

"There is a mass in the Diaman at late morning. A hunter's catch at early evening and various smaller things in the palace all day," Robert supplied.

Jareth nodded tiredly. "Which would you like?" he asked from sheer habit.

"I thought you might like the hunt," Robert said unexpectedly, "We'd be free to hunt how and when we want."

Jareth showed a mild surprise but he accepted it with a sleepy blink and a tug on a wet lock of hair. "It sounds tempting," he admitted, "No poetry this time?"

"There is. I don't think you'll enjoy it."

"What about you? Will you enjoy it?"

Robert fetched a glass of elixir. "You're wet from the rain. I should have warned you about that," he said quietly, "None of the poets are any good."

Jareth raised an eyebrow. It occurred to him that he hadn't heard Robert give an opinion on anything for a long time. At least, not without some severe provocation on Jareth's part. The thought made him smile, putting a little brightness into the gloom.

"What about the weavers?" he smirked.

Robert actually shuddered. "I'd rather not. Weaving is… rather boring." He looked doubtfully at Jareth.

Jareth looked impassively back at him, sipping on the tasteless liquid in his glass. Just long enough to see Robert start to worry. And then he shook his head and said, "I'm not interested in the damned rugs either," very peaceably.

Robert breathed a sigh of relief and took the half-empty glass back.

If he were conscious of those mismatched eyes watching him, he gave no sign. Instead he put the glass down on the table and went into the bedroom for a towel and a dry robe.

Jareth watched him anyway, turning this strange change of pace over in his brain. Evidently his little explosion of honest frustration had borne fruit. Robert seemed better disposed to him- much friendlier. He could see Robert look through his clothes for something thick enough and warm enough. This show of familiarity and even concern was almost alien to how Robert had been scant few hours before. Had something been decided when he was away?

Robert came back and proceeded to slide a comb through the tangled wet hair, trying to get the worst of the water out of it.

Jareth felt just a little foolish and promptly took the comb away from him. "I can brush my own hair," he pointed out.

Robert didn't seem perturbed. He went down on his knees and busied himself with Jareth's boots, much to the Goblin King's chagrin.

Jareth resigned himself to the fact and it was certainly nice to be looked after. Slavery as a concept was illogical to him, but the focused attention was not necessarily unappreciated. Or unwanted.

Deft fingers undid the buttons on the front of his breeches and if Jareth had only been in the mood! He sucked in a breath for self-control in any case, waiting to see if Robert would show any sign of revulsion or submission. Fate, if only he were in the mood!

The comb was taken away and his shirt attacked next, the wet linen peeling off like a dead layer of skin. It was transparent enough to be that.

Jareth managed to get the towel for himself, and to stand up, or there would be no telling what Robert's sudden warmth would put it into his head to do.

Robert didn't seem to notice the tug of war. He got up and put the wet clothes into the bathroom, coming back with a smile to find Jareth fastening up the robe and sliding into bed.

"Do you need anything more?" he asked softly.

"You've all but put me to bed," Jareth yawned, "That's far enough."

Robert ignored that altogether. He'd done a lot of thinking before falling asleep and if Jareth wanted to be trusted, Robert was duty-bound to try. Trust, like love, wasn't an emotion one could conjure up, but the cynical fact was that Robert could act it. Peshawa were taught to act, to supply a desired reaction even when it wasn't natural.

"Are you cold?" he asked instead.

The blue eye slitted open. "Not as such."

"There are more blankets," Robert explained, "Or I can get something hot for you."

Jareth opened the other eye, now more suspicious than relaxed. Robert was lying through his teeth; Jareth could tell. The Peshawa was a good actor but he had one thing in common with the Goblin King- he didn't like lies. What he was doing was a lie. Probably he had talked himself into this good mood. But it was still an act and Robert was trying very hard to keep it up.

Too hard.

Jareth wasn't angry so much as suspicious. These kinds of lies were almost pitiable. "I believe I can do without boiled leaves." He still didn't like lies though. "Body heat is always welcome, however."

There. The normal flinch.

Robert was furious when he felt it happen. He'd known it was coming when Jareth used that tone of voice. But it was still so… unappetizing? No. Shocking? More than that. Degrading. It was still so degrading.

He took a hesitant step forward and Jareth held up a hand to stop him. "It's alright. I don't want it. Leave me to sleep. You're free to go do whatever you like this morning."

Robert left with the odd sense of relief and self-annoyance sharing space in his brain. He went back to his room and his skin was hot. Sliding into cold sheets and feeling the tingling chill cool him down was quite enjoyable.

Jareth waited until the door shut before conjuring up a crystal.

Sarah was up. Dressed, too. And thinking deeply from the looks of it.

He got out of bed and dressed properly, leaving the robe on the floor before venturing out to her room. The use of high amounts of magical energy was forbidden in Beinheir. Changing to his owl form to visit his kingdom was understandable; apparating around the countryside would earn him a thinly humorous reprimand. So he walked it. In bare feet and an obvious lack of formality.

He knocked on the door and waited.

Sarah didn't open it right away, but he opened it hurriedly, with a terminally cheerful air.

He'd been hiding something, Jareth guessed. Better not to show he knew, however, so the sharp features never changed from their amiable expression. "Good morning. Still up?"

"I couldn't sleep," Sarah admitted, holding the door open, "What're you doing here so early?"

"I had business," Jareth said mildly.

Green eyes looked him up and down. "Did it involve taking off your clothes?"

"Now, Sarah. Is there any need to pry into my personal life?"

"I don't want to know," Sarah declared, "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

"You asked." Jareth chuckled quietly and sat down in the rocking chair, swinging it backwards until he could put his feet up on the delicate table. Then he proceeded to use a smidgen of magic to conjure up his cigarette case and lighter.

"Smoke?" he offered.

"Those things will kill you," Sarah warned.

"They might find it hard. We're immortal on a normal basis."

"Except to diseases. And that thing can give you cancer."

"Cancer?" he repeated, not sure of the reference.

The younger man nodded at him and wrapped himself up in the blanket on the couch. "It's a disease. The human body is made up of cells, right, and…"

"I've heard all this, yes. Get to the point," Jareth interrupted.

Sarah rolled his eyes but obliged. "Sometimes those cells change and start attacking the body. Or diseased cells start growing really fast, giving you a tumour. It's like an infection but very deadly. Smoking on Earth can lead to lung cancer."

"Ah." He inhaled a long swallow of smoke and exhaled it. "That's a frightening idea."

"That's what humans think too." Sarah watched the cigarette lifted and lowered. "You're not going to stop smoking, are you?"

"No," he said, "However, I think a little research into it will do us all some good. I suppose I should send a goblin Aboveground."

"Goblins? Will they understand it?"

"No. They are almost the silliest creatures known in these worlds. They only need to find a doctor who can see them and then I can send my physician up."

"You have a physician?"

"Of course. The Underground doesn't cater to my kind," Jareth shrugged.

"Your own personal doctor?"

"Yes, Sarah."

Sarah shook his dark head in a mock daze. "When I think about sitting in an overcrowded emergency room when Toby broke his leg… I could have just called you! Personal doctor, indeed!"

"But Sarah," Jareth mocked, "I might have tried to steal Toby away again."

Sarah scowled at him and stuck his nose in the air. "You're not funny."

"I try my poor best."

"Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"

"Hence the reason it is called sarcasm," Jareth soothed, "Calm yourself, Lannon. I'm not laughing at you."

"Oh, yes, you are."

Jareth shrugged again and considerately kept his amusement to himself. Sarah was always an interesting conversationalist. Especially when he was snappy.

"Jareth, I've been doing a little thinking," Sarah said slowly, "And I suddenly realized that you've never once asked me if I wanted to do all this rubbish."

"What rubbish?"

"This formal, royal stuff. Going to balls and being introduced by my real name."

"Didn't I?" he murmured, "I beg pardon. My mistake."

Sarah sighed and folded his arms. "You're not going to be serious, either. Fine, fine, don't be serious. It's not like I'm trying to have a serious conversation with my father."

"Sire." Jareth drew on his cigarette. "I am your Sire and Robert is your Dam. Your kind doesn't usually use the terms 'father' or 'mother'."

"Great. I sound like a thoroughbred," Sarah growled.

"It is rather funny you should say that," Jareth chuckled, "Your pedigree being what it is. Nobility on your maternal side; I suppose your paternal side is still a bit crass, but it is respectable. Another two generations and your grandchildren will be unquestionably Royalty."

"Grandchildren? Sorry. You're not getting kids out of me. I'm never going to have kids."

"That sounds definite."

"Gee, I don't know- get into a relationship where somebody else can do anything they want with me, and then produce kids so they can tag along on this screwy ride too? No thank you. If my Dam taught me anything, it's that Peshawa and kids don't mix."

"Stop worrying, Sarah. You have had a few bad experiences with the label, yes. But it only wants a little bit of common sense and an open mind. Being a Peshawa is not the end of the world." Jareth was resigned to repeating this argument many times over. "Robert is not the best example of his race."

"Are you putting Dad down again?"

"I never put Robert down," Jareth retorted, "It's unsporting and completely uninteresting. The man can't fight back."

Sarah was almost confused. "I don't get you," he finally said.

"I'm an amazingly simple person," Jareth commented.

"Jareth, be serious."

"Sarah, I came for a mild talk with someone interesting. I'm getting a lecture."

"Welcome to fatherhood," she said kindly, "Do you want me to pretend to respect you a little longer, or can I start stealing the car and sneaking out of the house?"

Jareth raised an eyebrow and then sighed in mournful contemplation of his previously quiet life. Well, perhaps not quiet, but uncomplicated. Simple. He had never bothered much with children before. They were usually terrified of him and as thankful as he was to be handed over to the goblins. Sarah was a little bit of an exception to the rule.

Sarah took his silence as an invitation to proceed. "You're a little confusing. Do you love Dad or don't you?"

Jareth blinked. "This is a little unexpected," he said distantly.

"It's a simple question."

"There's no simple answer."

"Either you do or you don't."

"Sarah, I'm not having this conversation with you," Jareth sighed, "Not least because it isn't any of your business."

"Of course, it's my business. You're my parents."

"Whether or not your parents are happy and can live with each other, yes- that is your business. Whether or not your parents can raise you right- that is your business. Prying into their feelings concerning each other is not a part of your right to be involved."

"Isn't it?" Sarah asked seriously, "I'm beginning to think it is. Dad can't protect himself from you. I know he's unhappy. You must have seen it. All this 'Yes, Sir' and 'No, Sir' is killing him. And then you come out with a sympathetic statement like that one that makes me wonder why you'd run the risk of making him unhappy if you cared about him."

"It's not a question of love, Sarah. It's a question of possession," Jareth explained gently, "He is mine."

"From the little I can tell, he wasn't married to you."

"But he was given specifically to me to do with as I wished. To use and discard to be precise. But is there any use to treating a living being like that? I'm not an idiot. Robert came with a lot of advantages for me. Treating him shabbily is bad strategy."

"Advantages?"

"Birth, position, culture," Jareth counted out, "The look of a rich household for housing a Peshawa. All sorts of things. Scandal, too, and not all of it was bad publicity."

"Okay, I get that. But why be nice to him if you're not… nice to him."

"I'm sympathetic, but I do what needs to be done."

"That makes no sense."

"I'm not obliged to have it make sense for you," he warned.

Sarah knew better than to fall for that. He laughed a little and cuddled further into the blankets, making sure he could feel the letter crackle inaudibly under his bottom so he knew where it was. The heavens forbid Jareth found it! Sarah would be in fifty kinds of trouble if Jareth found out Sarah was encouraging a nameless letter writer.

He'd probably also blow a fuse over what the letter said, encouraging the Princess to take back a little liberty from the Goblin King.

Jareth was working too hard pinning him down to approve of a little flitting.

"How did you enjoy the first night?" Jareth was asking, ignoring the previous topic altogether in favour of something lighter, something less thought-provoking.

"It was nice. I was dead hungry, though," Sarah complained, "They didn't serve any food."

"Oh." Jareth sighed and raised a hand to get the lock of hair out of his eyes. "I should have remembered that. It's a dance, so they don't actually serve a meal. The servants bring it round beforehand, but I did give orders not to approach our quarters unless it was necessary."

"Feeding me isn't necessary?" Sarah squeaked.

"A lot of women only nibble at a meal once a day," Jareth laughed, picturing Sarah's heart appetite against the women he knew, "I suppose the servants made a mistake."

"I'm starving 'cause they think I'm some kind of damned bird! Oh, that gets my goat. There'd better be breakfast because I'll eat the couch otherwise. Stop laughing, Jareth. You'll wake everyone else up."

The Goblin King wasn't laughing aloud. He was, however, enjoying the heart-felt grumble with a wide grin on his face, his eyes dancing merrily at the vision of outraged anger before him. He took pity on the poor thing and summoned up a crystal. "Here," he said, tossing it to him.

Sarah caught it and it turned into a peach. "Oh, no," he swore, putting it down, "I'm not eating that."

"Scared?" Jareth teased.

"You'll drug me again."

"Do I have a reason to put a spell on you?"

Sarah thought it over. There was no reason to drug her or put a spell on him. Besides, even if he did, what outrageous designs would his 'Sire' have on him? The most Jareth would do, would be to put him to bed or dress him in something ridiculous. Jareth wasn't the kind to play practical jokes like that.

Sarah ate the peach.

He almost inhaled it, he was so hungry.

Jareth gave him another when one vanished so quickly and they talked of inconsequential things until the hour before dawn.

Robert came for Sarah, then, and while the younger Peshawa went to change, Robert made the surprisingly personal decision to gently touch the Goblin King's forehead and neck to check for any illness.

"I'm fine," Jareth grumbled, "Stop fussing."

Robert dropped his hand but didn't move away. He even stepped in close and touched the Goblin King's shoulder. "I made a mistake," he said simply, "If you still want it, I can do it."

Sarah heard the murmurs from his bedroom but couldn't- for the life of him- make out what it meant. He came out a moment later and Jareth saw them out and then left for his own bed, determined to get some sleep before his over-taxed brain shut down on him. It seemed he would be in dire need of it in these few festival days.


	38. Chapter 38

Author's Note: The chapters just never seem to get shorter. Sorry bout that. I think it's the long paused in-between.

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"Dad?"

"Yeah, Sarah."

"Why are you male again?"

Robert smiled a little and said, "Jareth didn't want me female for a while."

"Oh. Was that it?" Sarah looked considerably disheartened by the answer.

Robert stopped and took his daughter to a small alcove, inviting him to sit down in the window seat. "Honey, don't look so upset. You don't have to worry about me."

"Well, why shouldn't I?" Sarah demanded, "One minute you're a woman and the next you're a man. All because Jareth's being an ass."

"An ass?"

"You know what an ass is, Dad. Don't look so confused."

"Yeah, but I've never heard Jareth called an ass before."

Sarah couldn't help thinking that the threats and gloom of the day before was preferable to this amused serenity. "Well, he is one," he said intently, "And I don't like seeing him being an ass to you."

"Sarah, what can either of us do about that?"

Sarah though of the letter he'd managed to hide under his bed. "We can try to reason with him," he offered.

Robert chuckled and shook his head. "Jareth isn't going to listen to reason. Unless it's his reason."

The letter had said that too. Sarah wasn't too hopeful himself.

"Either way, I'll change back before we officially leave our rooms this morning," Robert continued, "So stop worrying! Jareth's not going to beat me and I am not enduring torture of any kind. Okay?"

"You're doing this willingly."

"I have no choice, do I?" Robert said whimsically, "I have no home with Karen and- no, let me finish- and even if I did, I would have to leave eventually when the lies get too obvious. This way is better."

"Says you."

"Says me, yeah. I'm the one lying, remember? And don't say 'tell Karen' because you're not too old for a smack in Peshawa years."

"I'm not?"

"Nope."

"Mom never smacked me!"

"Well, I never had that problem, did I?" Robert stood up and beckoned Sarah on. "Come on."

"So, I'm not old in Peshawa years?" Sarah demanded.

"No."

"I'm still a kid?"

"Something like that." Robert caught the confused frown. "We come of age at twenty-three but we're not really adult until we're released from Brenth Naigur."

"Where's that?"

"Trust me, honey, you don't want to know."

The prayers came easy that morning. Sarah found himself falling easily into the rhythm, his body moving fluidly as the words ran through his head.

The so-called rock garden was filled with, unsurprisingly, rocks. And rocks didn't make much of a sound, even when the wind blew over them. There was no sound of water, though Sarah could see his reflection in the wooden bowls that Robert had brought for them if he chose to look.

All in all it wasn't his idea of a garden, what with the rocks and the sand and the patchwork bits of moss, but it certainly seemed to get the job done. The air was blissfully warm and the whole place so quiet that if Sarah wanted, he could have gone back to sleep. If he hadn't been so deep in his prayers.

When they ended, Sarah almost choked on the water as he drank it, completing the ceremony only because Robert did. He put the bowl down and Robert calmly took his arm and led him immediately back inside.

"Don't give them the satisfaction," Robert said in rough Peshan.

Sarah wasn't sure if the gathered group of people was real or just a figment of his hyperactive imagination.

They returned to their rooms via a helpful boonan going their way and Robert waited until he was sure Sarah was safe in his room before vanishing into his own.

The long sleep had done him some good. In the clear light of morning, things seemed easier. So much more logical.

For so long he had been caught up in a violet haze of shock, the world gone two shades darker and the centre left of his focus. Nothing had made much sense and Robert hadn't known why. It was galling to blame hurt pride. But a little bird- if a sometime owl could be classed in such a way- had cracked him over the head with a few well chosen words. Robert took being beholden to Jareth with a pinch of salt.

It was just that he'd never been discarded before! He had birth, respect, charm, everything. He'd gone from one protected household to the next. He'd gone from one marriage to the next. Even with Linda, he'd willingly let her go before she had even known their marriage was ending. Karen was the only one who had ever thrown him out.

Robert shut the door to his room and lay down on his bed. It was easier to change in complete relaxation. There were a few finishing details he had been unable to see to the last time because Jareth had put him on the spot like that. He took his time, waiting for bones and tendons to knit and pulse. He perfected it, bored with normal upkeep and falling deftly into that place where he could control every shred of his physical being.

Robert knew the exact moment when Jareth walked into the room. She could sense that familiar magic that reached out to mingle with hers. She could feel it cool on the backs of her hands. But she wouldn't move or stop. Jareth was just there; he wasn't an intrusion.

It was the way things were.

Robert finished the change and rested for just a moment, drifting back out of the fit.

"Better than the last," Jareth commented with a grin.

Robert smiled back and tugged uncomfortably on her breeches. "I tried something new," she said, "Is that alright?"

"It's your body."

"Technically…"

"Robert, shut up," Jareth commanded.

The Peshawa obligingly shut up and tried to get the too-tight breeches to sit well on her slightly wider hips. She gave up after a while and went to the closet for a pair of leggings. "Am I late?" she asked amiably, changing the subject.

"Not at all," Jareth replied, almost courteous in spite of the impatient snap to his words, "Considering how the time was spent, I'd say you were early. We did miss breakfast."

"The servants can have something brought up."

"I placed an order."

Robert changed into the leggings and hunted for a dress. Since Jareth's moods were unpredictable, she preferred not to bait him by opening her mouth. Somehow, nothing she ever said was taken the right way. So she resorted to humming, selecting the peach because she knew Jareth liked the colour.

He let her change in peace, saying nothing until she picked up a brush for her hair. "Up, I think," was all he said.

She couldn't catch his eyes in the mirror. The one blue, the other hazel, and both of them looking around the room with a musing expression of disdain. Robert took a deep breath and didn't find the situation so terrible after all. It was a very intimate thing, dressing in front of someone else. But Jareth's distraction, after so much focused attention, was rather refreshing. It made her smile a little and feel happy with the off-hand suggestion.

"Up," she agreed, selecting long bone pins to keep the thick curls in place, "Could you?"

He gave a slight start and then helped her with a mocking smile. "I remember you got very upset the first time I did this," he teased.

"It's an insult in my clan," Robert protested, "I thought you were punishing me."

"Punish you by playing with your hair?" Jareth tugged on a curl with his gloved fingers, laughing down at her. "Ridiculous."

"Not at the time, as I recall."

"You thought I was punishing you."

Robert still couldn't catch his eye. Jareth was too busy trying to mix the pins and her hair. He eventually just bunched it up and stuck bone pins in at random.

Surprisingly enough, the pins held.

"There," Jareth chuckled, "That should look artistic."

"Or insane." Robert turned her head from side to side, fascinated by the mess of her hair. "I look mad."

"Wonderful. They think you're mad in any case. This should keep them away." Jareth had had enough and he handed out of that chair before she could undo everything he'd done. He rather liked the look. Even if the knot did look precarious.

"What about Sarah?"

"Vernon has her."

"Vernon!" Green eyes grew very wide. "You agreed?"

"On pain of death if he touched her. Vernon is a flirt but he won't try anything." Jareth opened the door and pointedly waited for Robert to leave the room first. "Not unless he wants his arms sewn to his sides."

"My, my. Your threats are getting violent, loquewren. You only threatened to break his hands for me."

Jareth was pleasantly surprised, if not a little astonished, at this good-natured teasing. Robert hadn't been so warm since… Jareth wasn't sure of the exact number of years but he couldn't remember the warmth lasting for very long through their relationship. Possibly the first two years. And then nothing. Unless compliance could be called warmth.

Robert took the chance with both hands and quietly placed the bottle of elixir on the table. Right beside Jareth's place. Where she knew Jareth couldn't mistake it.

The Goblin King hated the medication with a passion quite intense for someone so sensible. He said it dulled his senses. Simply because the pharmacists used a drop of something with mild hallucinogenic effects. Those damned cigarettes of his were worse and Jareth took those willingly.

The thin lips went ominously narrow and Robert held her breath.

Jareth was a little annoyed. Until the flash of apprehension in those green eyes. He forced himself to relax. The entire situation, though unbelievable, was soothing enough for him to want to prolong it as far as possible. Yet, he did have his pride. And he hated that disgusting liquid.

So he said nothing, merely pouring out as small a measure as he could reasonably argue was enough, and ingesting it before he gave in to a desire to toss the whole thing into a potted plant.

Robert looked as though she would fall over with thankfulness.

"Sit down, Robert." Jareth wasn't hungry any more. He never was, usually, when he was annoyed. At the questioning glance, he made his excuses and said he had eaten. If Robert didn't believe him, the Peshawa was smart enough not to say so. Which left Jareth free to wander around the apartment while Robert ate.

A jeweled chain on a clay figure made him question someone's sanity. Why leave jewellery where anyone could steal it? Though, to be sure, the Allorns were more likely to mourn the loss of 'art' than the loss of their jewels. Jareth found it wasteful. Display pieces were one thing; stupidity was quite another.

The clay figure, however, was one he liked. The woman was faceless, featureless, staring up at the stars with her arms flung out behind her. She certainly was a very appealing shape.

Jareth found his own male fallibility quite humorous, as he did most vulnerabilities. It didn't matter who displayed them, his mind found a lot to laugh at when physical bodies could not control themselves.

"What are we doing today?" Robert called out, brushing her hands off and rising to her feet.

"Hunting, truina," he answered absently, barely raising his voice from a murmur.

She must have heard him because Robert disappeared for a minute and came back with short, graceful boots on her feet, lacing them up standing, long leg curled up and her tongue sticking out as she hurried to get dressed.

Jareth found that amusing too. And very appealing. There were some physical fallibilities that went beyond humourous into bizarre. He didn't appreciate this one physical fallibility. He couldn't afford it. For professional and personal reasons.

"Shall we go?" he asked, sweeping out the room with barely a look to his coat to bring it to his hand.

Robert hurried after him, wondering if she had done something wrong.

She hadn't. Jareth was a fair person and he would have told her that if she had asked. She didn't ask. And so he remained quiet for most of his way to the east grounds, until such point as he steadied his cat and gestured to the animal's back with a small grin.

"I hate cats," Robert grumbled, "Even Aboveground I hate cats. I hate these cats most."

Jareth came up behind her and slid an arm around her waist. "I don't know."

Robert could have sworn he purred, just like his mount.

"I like their build."

He dug his heels in sharply and Robert almost went over backwards when the cat leaped forward. The poor Allorn attending them had to jump out of the way or be bowled over. Luckily, Jareth was quite happy to play the hero. He pulled harshly on the harness and the cat veered off to the left, missing the boy completely. Jareth also moved forward just as Robert went back.

Shoulder blade met chest and the arm around Robert's waist tightened a considerable deal.

"Oh, a very good build," Jareth chuckled.

Robert collected her frazzled dignity and adjusted her seat. Riding anything was one skill Peshawa never learned. But grace and balance they did. Robert did the best she could and let Jareth have his fun.

Thank God, Jareth didn't paw her. He just kept his arm firmly around her waist. Though Robert worked her annoyance out by trying to fathom why Jareth kept trying to scoop her up against him. Maybe he was a refined lecher? Robert had a few moments of fun and satisfaction with that theory before discarding it altogether.

Eventually they came to stop.

Jareth was still smirking at her, reaching out to brush the curls that had tumbled to her shoulders.

Robert shook her head and decided to ignore the whole situation. "Shall we go in?" she pleaded.

"One moment." Jareth whispered something in the animal's ear, all rumbling undertone and little flicks up at the ends of his words, and the cat loped off and went back the way it had come. "They'll send her back at the end of the day."

"We'll take that long?"

"I'd take longer, but Oric might ask for us when she comes down tonight. Inside, truina."

He offered her his arm and the attendants opened the door for them.

There was a stir when Jareth and Robert walked into the lodge. Royalty rarely hunted, and when they did, they did it with full ceremony. But the Goblin King and his mate walked in as two ordinary people and didn't demand special treatment.

The Hunt Master waited for the maneuvering and twisting to die down, bowing slightly to Jareth in welcome. The Goblin King stood at the back and nodded back in recognition.

"We were addressing the terms of the hunt," the Hunt Master said, "The rare phoenix, Your Majesty. It was procured especially for this occasion."

"How fast does it fly?" someone asked.

"Extremely fast, Milord. It has an impressive wingspan and a very light frame. Here is the quarry."

He drew the silken cover from the cage with a flourish.

Robert sighed and shook her head at Jareth's glance. "It will be hard," she whispered, "Look at its colouring."

The bird was, in a word, green. The long tail feathers were different shades of green and its feathers darkened over the neck and head. Topaz yellow eyes flicked at them all in turn.

"A worthy competitor," the Hunt Master remarked, "You will know it by its song, and by its curiosity. But I must warn you- it is an intelligent bird and very hard to trap."

"Too hard," a lady grumbled, "What if no one catches it?"

"The bird will remain free," the Hunt Master informed her, "The organized hunt was scheduled for today, but you may hunt it at any time you choose. The bird, once caught, will be plucked and cooked for the winner. The feathers are yours to do with as you wish."

"A handsome prize," the lady mused, "I am satisfied."

"Then, there is no more to be said! The hunt begins… now!"

The cage door was thrown open and the bird swooped out instantly, circling the room for a way out. It perched on a beam while the people scrambled for their gear.

Jareth considerately opened the door for it.

The bird left amidst groans of regret. People threw up their hands and declared that the phoenix was nigh uncatchable in the wild.

Jareth slipped out quietly with Robert, bored already with the noise and complaints. He was not enamored with his fellow participants.

The two strode off into the nearest thicket of trees.

"How large an area do you think we have?" Jareth asked.

Robert thought about that. "There's the colony at Fellgraft. The forests start there. We're at Recicogue. Perhaps a twenty mile radius? A little less."

Jareth patted her shoulder. "I have an idea, yes. Thank you. That will do."

Robert gave a little start and blinked at the man beside her. She could only see Jareth's sharp profile and he was staring straight ahead, looking neither right nor left. Until Robert saw the corner of those thin lips twitch and then she relaxed, smiling ruefully at her own loose tongue.

"Forgive me," she muttered, unpinning her hair to put it firmly back up.

Jareth caught her hands and spun her around, pulling her close with a laugh. "Charming," he laughed, "Utterly charming."

Robert was unprepared for the kiss that burned her lips. She didn't even close her eyes, she was so shocked. Stunned and a little cross-eyed, Robert squeaked in her throat until Jareth pulled away again.

"Was that alright?" he whispered, fingers sliding through the loose hair, trailing down to cup her face. "Too soon?"

Too soon? Peshawa were not supposed to be treated like shrinking virgins. Jareth shouldn't be asking, Robert thought dazedly, it was his right to do as he wished. When he wished. Robert was trained to be accommodating. Right here, in the forest, if that was what he wanted.

"Robert?"

Whispered into her ear, tongue flicking out to gently touch the hard curve.

"The phoenix," Robert said stupidly. She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. If Jareth was in any way in a gentle mood, he'd pull away. If he wasn't… "We're supposed to hunt it."

The sigh was almost deafening. "Yes. Which way do you suggest?"


	39. Chapter 39

Author's Note: I prefer to treat my reviewers with a little more respect than to hold my story for ransom. I would, however, like a word of encouragement now and again. You don't have to praise the story or praise me, just send a two-word review saying that you're still reading. If it's a terrible story and it drags, feel free to say that too.

Author's Note 2: Iigawa- the race in general; iiga- male specific; iigon- female specific.

Author's Note 3: There is a made-up word used. It is explained in the text.

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"There's Ishtar, the Goddess of magic," Sarah counted, "And the twin Gods of Age, and Baicla, the Fox-God, and the hearth Gods, and Lebon, the Guardian of the heart, mind and womb."

Vernon nodded and considerately held a chair out for him. "The Allorns do not believe in Gods," he said, "But they have a tradition of giving back to the earth what they take from it."

Sarah nodded and nodded politely at someone across the table.

"Your Highness." Clairen.

Sarah turned in his seat and bowed momentarily to show respect. He didn't rise, however. Peshawa he might be, but he was still a Princess. Jareth had told him he did not need to rise for anyone except a lady of his own standing. Sarah rounded the lesson off to mean that he didn't rise at all unless Oric was in the room.

Oric wasn't at breakfast.

"Her Royal Majesty Queen Oric sends her compliments and her regrets that she is yet unable to meet with you," Clairen said sweetly, "I am charged with the task of assuring that you have all that you desire."

"Thank you," Sarah said carefully, "I hope she is feeling better this morning?"

Vernon shared a look with Clairen. The older Allorn was quite surprised by the question but allowed it on the basis of Sarah's inexperience. "She is much better," he smiled, "Still tired, but not ill."

Anyone skilled in politics would have known that. Had Oric actually been ill, she would have been taken instantly to the healing houses in the city proper. Had she been ill, Clairen would have had orders to clear the Palace in case of others' infections. Had she been ill, the whole country would have gone into disarray.

As it was, Clairen was surprised that the young one was so artlessly deluded by a little white lie.

Vernon spoke up, deliberately choosing to use the language of the Cherisse so Sarah could not understand. "She doesn't know the terms. Let it pass."

Clairen nodded and replied, "Be careful. She is not to be played with."

"The King warned me."

"The Queen has mentioned it too," Clairen revealed, "This one is to be left alone."

Vernon didn't like the sound of that. But he agreed to it. There was no other choice when his Queen ordered it. Besides, he had no claim on the Princess, and Sarah was hardly going to thank him for any show of lovesick heroics.

"Pardon me, Sir," Sarah cut in civilly, "I believe Ciraph Brace is trying to catch your attention."

The Ciraph certainly was trying to catch Clairen's attention. The Steward excused himself from the conversation and flitted across the room to greet the Nelderbrae courtier with a chaste kiss on his thin cheek. The white flower bobbed around the room at regular intervals.

Sarah watched it for a while, trying to reconcile this charming person with the importance Jareth had taught him about.

Vernon, meanwhile, left him in peace to stare all he liked. The diplomatic messenger was engaged in a few counts of personal introduction. It was very good for his reputation to be entrusted with the company of the Goblin King's daughter and heir. Jareth had always been as much a reference for his professionalism as he was aggressive over his flirtatious nature. This show of cordial preference was an added bonus that equalled four or five highly sensitive matters for high-profile politicians.

So Vernon used the opportunity to talk to some of those politicians that had begun to speculate about his ability. He was fluent in the major languages and took care to sound interested in everything they said, whether they spoke of economic dictatorships or their favoured pet.

Halfway through the meal, Sarah was startled to be approached by a slender xaroparson. The xaroparsons had been busy with dishes and plates and letters, moving swiftly around the tables with their beautiful faces and their blue skins. Sarah hadn't expected one of them to present itself with a tray and a letter.

It twittered something at him.

Sarah hesitantly took the letter and the xaroparson bent low by the waist as it backed away.

Vernon hadn't even noticed he was so busy with the bearded Allorn to his right.

Sarah knew these letters. This was the fourth one in two days. He was beginning to feel a little afraid. And more than a little excited. Green eyes scanned the room quickly to see if anyone was watching, or waiting. And then they dropped again to the thick envelope.

Sarah put it away in his coat pocket for later, smiling as casually as possible when Saxony gestured from across the room.

Saxony's companion noticed. And Leeman Brace wasted no time in leaned closer to the Troll King's side to ask in a low undertone if the youth was really the Goblin King's daughter.

"Strange customs," Brace commented, "To dress a woman as a man. Earthlings surprise me."

Saxony laughed and wiped his mouth. "She's a Peshawa, Brace. The gossip must be flawed if you did not hear that."

"I see. How is that?"

Saxony shrugged. "The story of the Goblin King is old news, now. How did you not hear?"

"I never listen to gossip," Brace remarked coldly. A moment later he smiled a little, resting his yellow eyes on Sarah's young face. "Perhaps I should."

"Perhaps you should, indeed, Lee," Saxony laughed, waving his plate away and settling back in his chair. The Hall was less than half full, leaving ample place for friends to gather in secluded corners and talk. Friends and lovers.

Saxony was certain that the Second-Circle Allorn sitting so privately with her friend was perched just a little too close. Perhaps smiled too wide? Certainly they seemed oblivious to all other eyes.

Women were notoriously senile when they fell in love or lust.

Saxony wished them luck and looked back to find his friend still watching Jareth's heir. The yellow eyes were narrowed, flashing dull gold with the fluctuation of thought.

"Jareth will not allow it," he said abruptly.

Leeman Brace was startled, his well-bred face turning slightly to glance back at Saxony's serious warning. "Pardon?"

"His daughter. You know how he was with his mate." Saxony shook his dark head and propped it up in one hand. "Jealous and protective. He would smell your intention a yard away."

"My intention?"

"She has that effect on all of us, Lee. The first time I saw her, she lured me."

"What?" Lee was laughing, now, his mouth open in delirious scandal.

Saxony shrugged and didn't elaborate. "A truly magnificent sight. A Peshawa in lure is always tempting, but she was exceptional. A vision, I promise."

"Her dam was rather special too."

"Not my type," Saxony dismissed, "Though I can see the attraction."

Leeman leaned closer still and slid his hand over Saxony's knee, whether to caress or reinforce a point he wouldn't say. Possibly both. Possibly a gesture for the way Sarah was surreptitiously looking back at them, fluttering dark eyelashes as he flashed wide-eyed curiosity from his green eyes.

Saxony raised an eyebrow but didn't halt the hand. He allowed it, and proceeded to forget about it altogether.

"Do you know," the Ciraph, confided, "That Clairen has an attraction for the grattant."

"The 'grattant', as you call him, is still very much under the Goblin King's protection," Saxony said acidly, "Jareth does not take kindly to hearing his mate called a diseased prostitute."

"If the title is given, it is given," Leeman relished, "I have a very old debt owed to Robert and I have no friendship for him."

"He flocked you at cards?"

"Stole every cent."

Saxony patted the hand on his thigh in mock sympathy before pushing it off. "Still. Robert is hardly a grattant. And Clairen's attraction to him is one of my treasured secrets. I happened to observe him duplicating him with his sister."

"No!"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"I give you my word."

Leeman was almost bouncing with excitement at this sudden information. "What was her name? Nila? Little Nila? I trained on her."

"The Ciraph of Nelderbrae could not ask to train on a lesser personage," Saxony teased, raising a hand to trace the thin, shallow slits that passed as a nose, "Was she sufficiently grateful?"

"She screamed delightfully."

"They always do. When did you have her?"

"They let me know when it was her height," Leeman said casually.

Saxony nodded and let Brace go back to his meal. He looked around the eating hall, taking the low, fluted ceiling for granted. The careful, painted scenes upon the plastered walls were too familiar, too expected, to catch his eye. Saxony found neither the conversation nor the setting very exotic.

Sarah found the setting very exotic indeed. Strange creatures peopled the scenes painted upon the wall. He spent a pleasurable hour making up stories about all of them in his mind.

As though he were fifteen again.

Sarah sighed regretfully and listened with only one ear when Vernon finally offered a polite apology for not including him in the conversation.

"You would not have enjoyed it," the half-Allorn said.

Sarah smiled with one half of his mouth.

"Politics is such a boring subject," Vernon continued, his voice light as he offered his arm as he had the previous evening, "We should talk of other things. Would you like to see the Mass?"

The letter crackled inaudibly in his coat pocket and Sarah bit his tongue to keep his stirring temper in check. He strove not to listen, to go back to that quiet, simple place in his head where the make-believe was not limited to dresses, sex and romance. On the outside, Sarah gave Vernon all the silent compliance that he needed.

"Jareth said he will be going hunting," Vernon chatted.

"And my father?"

Two little frown lines appeared between Vernon's eyes.

Sarah corrected himself. "My dam, I mean. Robert. Where is he?"

"With your Sire, naturally." Vernon said it slowly, as though it was perfectly obvious.

He meant well, Sarah realized. Vernon gave a polite answer with pleasant blankness, not understanding why the question needed to be asked in the first place. Taking it for granted that Robert was with Jareth because where else would a faithful Peshawa be except with his owner of the moment?

Sarah bit his tongue harder. "Of course. How silly of me."

"Not at all. You were looking at the display cases. Would you like to stop and see them?"

"The Mass is soon."

"We have the time, Your Highness. I will get you there on time."

Vernon slid open the glass lids with a flourish, selecting an antique silver brooch and reaching for Sarah's shirt. "Undo a few buttons first." He ripped them off quite matter-of-factly, tossing them lightly over his shoulder, "And the brooch pins… so. There!"

He stood back and cocked his head critically.

Sarah was in too much shock at this unthinking destruction of his clothing. Vernon had just torn his clothing as though he never needed to ask permission. As though Sarah's opinion in the matter didn't count. Sarah's opinion! As a Princess, never mind the wearer of the clothing at stake!

"Perfect, Your Highness," a slithering voice hissed up.

Sarah's blank eyes lifted from Vernon's handsome face to another one entirely.

Saxony was standing back, silent, observing the whole thing with lazy good humour. His companion from the eating hall was smirking with sharp fangs showing.

Sarah was still in shock. Feeling more than a little cornered. Briefly he thought of calling on Jareth instantly, just to hide his face and demand to leave. Jareth would take him away at once; he knew that somehow. And Jareth would be furious on his behalf as this maltreatment.

"A charming arrangement," the snake-like man was saying, looking languidly at Vernon, "My compliments."

"Accepted gratefully," Vernon allowed, sketching a rough gesture of greeting. He looked over the other's shoulder and his brown eyes sparkled a little with barely repressed amusement. "Good morning, Your Majesty."

"Good morning," Saxony returned.

Sarah felt his jaw tighten. They didn't even notice. Not his shock, not his outrage, not the nearly unstoppable tremble in his knees that threatened to fell him to the ground. Not even the heated blush he could feel on his face and on his neck and shoulders.

His bitter mind told him he could expect nothing else as a Peshawa. As an iigawa. Was this not what it meant to be lower than an independent? And Sarah had no owner, apart from Jareth. Any Peshawa without an owner was on offer for anyone with the inclination to abuse his nature. Iigons could expect nothing less than the careless derision of others.

Yellow eyes were observing him carefully, watching to see how he would react without trying to see why.

Sarah used all his willpower to bring his hands up.

Jareth had warned him of this. Had warned him not to get involved in situations like this. Sarah couldn't be sure, but Jareth might have expected him to go along with these assumptions that he was a doll to be dressed up, a body without a mind.

After that, his fingers shook but his pride wouldn't let them falter.

He took off the pin and gently replaced it within the cabinet. "I doubt it suits me," he said neutrally.

"Silver is an excellent colour for you," Brace exclaimed. He seemed to be laughing at Sarah's opinion, viewing it with indulgence.

Sarah looked him straight in the eye, too caught up in controlling his unruly tongue to hide the sheer anger in his eyes.

Some part of Jareth must have existed in him because Brace lowered his head and held up his hands in surrender.

It felt so easy to summon up some power Sarah didn't even know he had, to command his appearance to return to what it had been. He felt the drain from never having done this consciously before, but he managed it. His shirt was whole and the buttons were returned to their original place, holding his clothing closed against those three pairs of knowing, prying eyes.

Saxony raised a cheer inwardly. Robert, with his classical allure and his frigid mask, had never been of any interest to the Troll King. But Sarah… Sarah had far more fire in his eyes than Robert did, and fire promised passion and spirit. Not someone that would lie back and accept. A lover to be won, not to be taken. Jareth might chase after a statue of ice and hope to melt it, but Saxony much preferred to tempt and be tempted.

"Your Highness," he said, stepping forward and forbearing to lay a patronizing hand on the younger man's arm, "The Mass should be starting soon. May I show you the way?"

Sarah nodded tightly and went.

Vernon blinked, more than a little off-balance by that encounter.

Brace only laughed and went his separate way, confident that he now knew Saxony's game for the three days of the festival.


	40. Chapter 40

Author's Note: Sorry I've been away so long. I'm up to my neck in work and I was finishing off another fiction. Sorry. But this has top priority now. **  
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** ------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Quite the statement, Princess. The guests talk of little else. **

**That embarrasses you. Tell me, what else affects you so? Talking? Sporting? Do you sport at all? You certainly enjoy your mind, but you seem to dismiss your body. I wonder why. No one else in this palace does. **

**No, protest later. When you wear the earring. You must, you know, or I won't approach. Or this enough? Really, Sarah, you have very many questions to answer.**

Sarah tucked the letter into an inside pocket, a little worried that he might run into his parents sooner rather than later. Sooner was not a good time for him; he didn't envision going back to his room until it was time to dress for the evening.

He focused on the revolting tableaux of dying animals in front of him and wrinkled his nose.

At least Saxony was charming.

Sarah was already pre-disposed to ignoring his original escort in favour of anyone else who happened to be nearby, but he found himself warming to the Gherengh King. Saxony, thank God, didn't treat him like a brainless mannequin.

He sat close to hand, leaning closer to whisper explanations into Sarah's ear.

Vernon was strangely quiet, even though he stayed at Sarah's left at all times. He was courteous enough when Saxony addressed a few words to him, answering with a shadow of his typical exuberance. But when the two turned away, the smile collapsed. He fixed his eyes contemplatively on the masked figures in the arena.

Vernon remembered growing up in the Allorn Courts, diving in and out of the Three Circles with full impunity. The Queen had adopted him. Later an older woman of some residual importance had taken him into her fold of young men with potential. After that, Clairen had offered his protection. Vernon counted himself as lucky.

Yet, staring at the Cherisse priests perform their tasks, he was reminded of the tutor who had simply handed him a book on the role of this small sect within his society and told him to read it. Vernon had asked why. The tutor had simply said that he was a bright child who might find he liked politics.

Vernon certainly liked politics. Far better, he liked words. Twisting, writhing, living words that meant one thing and foretold another.

"So they're all Allorn, really, right?"

He refocused upon the young man to his right.

"Yes." Saxony was all charm and good breeding. Jareth would have made some suitably cutting remark. "The Allorns don't really believe in religion, you see. The Cherisse have their own lands, now. It's the best way for everyone."

Vernon caught a pair of quizzical blue eyes over Sarah's shoulder. Saxony remembered their contract.

"Fascinating," Sarah breathed.

"Not unlike your own culture, beauty," Vernon interjected smoothly, "The Cherisse live their lives according to their Gods."

"The Peshawa don't."

"No?" Saxony asked.

Sarah looked from one to the other, conscious of having offered an opinion. He licked his lips in nervousness, wishing he had held his tongue as Jareth had ordered. "Not that I was told," he covered carefully.

Saxony smiled but nodded and turned back to the spectacle of slaughter unfold before them. He winced when a slender reedfoot bleated out a plaintive cry of pain, one hand pressing the cool metal of his seeing-eye into his chest below his shirt.

When it was over, he offered his arm to the young man with a challenge on his round face.

Sarah gazed at the arm and didn't want to take it.

Vernon swiftly touched his arm to draw his attention, the semi-transparent green cloth slick beneath his fingertips. "Hold," he cautioned, "Niko wants to speak with us."

"Saxony," the Vherder King called. He waved a large hand and paused for just a moment to level a critical eye at Sarah. "Paradise, what are you wearing?"

Sarah blinked in shock. He might have fallen back a pace if Saxony weren't behind him. As it was, that strident voice had drawn every eye in near vicinity. Sarah flushed with mortification and more than a little anger. The instinct was to retort in kind. Instinct was also to feel ashamed for… for… causing displeasure? Something like that.

Beatrice tutted behind her husband and shook her head. "I think you look nice," she said simply, "Saxony, I've been meaning to ask you about those painted screens of yours."

"Redecorating, Beatrice?"

"No." She looked as though the thought had simply not occurred to her. "I'm looking for a gift for an old friend of mine. Won't it be appropriate?"

"It's a little big," Saxony remarked.

"She's a good friend," Beatrice returned.

Niko shook his head and waved the entire topic away. "Later my dear," he muttered, "Hats and screens later. Saxony, where are you going?"

"Inside, Niko. Care to join us?"

"Not particularly. That damned Cherisse tradition of cutting up animals has given me a migraine. I thought I would go to the walks."

"Naturally." Saxony knew his old friend and he found it amusing that Niko had no compunctions giving his unvarnished opinion on any subject, no matter how delicate it was in present company. Vernon actually stiffened in annoyance for just an instant before relaxing again.

"Your Highness," Beatrice came forward and greeted the Peshawa with a civil nod. If a little imperious.

"Your Majesty," Sarah offered the full salutation, since the woman was older and ranked higher. Jareth had drilled that into him. Jareth had drilled a lot of things into him. Jareth was also not currently in attendance and Sarah felt more than a little lost without his irreverent, supercilious, sarcastic sire. Jareth was many things but Sarah preferred fighting Jareth to fighting unknown entities.

"A charming jacket," Beatrice remarked, "Xen?"

"Yes," Sarah answered pleasantly, "Xen."

"Jareth's choice," Saxony spoke up behind her. "Considering the cut and colour."

Sarah smiled and nodded once. Better the truth and these people didn't seem to think any less of him for it.

"Interfering old owl," Niko commented.

"Younger than you, Niko," Saxony said mildly, "And his abilities are not a curse, old friend. Rather annoying, actually. I never could work out how he managed it."

"Kelpyrnes," Vernon finally joined in, easy grin charming his companions with its mischievous invitation to conspire together, "Rumour has it he was trained by kelpyrnes."

Niko snorted but he seemed to be find it just as amusing as everyone else. He even laughed, the smile upon his face lifting the stern features. "Rubbish. Kelpyrnes can't communicate with us."

"Ah, but Jareth must have lived amongst them, learned their language and learned their ways," Vernon said mysteriously, "He is no longer one of us. Strange rituals were carried out in the heart of the Labyrinth beneath the winter moon, you know. The rumours all speak of it."

"The Castle's at the heart of the Labyrinth," Sarah offered.

The others looked at him in surprise.

"I was only thinking," he repeated, "That the Castle is at the centre. The heart is the centre. Therefore the Castle is the heart."

Saxony leaned forward and placed a gentle hand on Sarah's shoulder. "Well done," he chuckled lightly, "Logical, too. Well, Vernon? What have you to say to that?"

"The Castle might have been built after the fact."

"It seems unlikely," Sarah said doubtfully, "The kelpyrnes are- are territorial, aren't they? They don't live in the Castle."

"No one said that they lived in the heart of the Labyrinth," Vernon asked gently, "Only that the rites were performed there."

"Oh."

"As I said."

Saxony excused himself from Sarah and Vernon, offering to walk with Niko on the paths that wound through the many layered gardens around the Allorn palace. Beatrice chose to go with them. It left Sarah and Vernon very much on their own.

"Well, beauty?" he prompted, his brown eyes crinkling, "What shall we do now?"

Sarah stared coolly at him, the incident with the brooch still not forgiven. "I'd like to return to the palace if we're done here. I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Is the bed too cold?"

He seemed to be laughing at him again. Certainly he was walking much too close, his fingers brushing whisper-light against the back of his hand. Sarah put a gap between them on the pretense of moving away to look at something else.

"Well, I must admit that I won't mind a little quiet. Your rooms are quite private."

"What?" Sarah stopped short and stared with him as though Vernon had grown another head. "No, I'm going back to my room. I'm going to sleep. Thank you for your company but I'd like a little time on my own."

"Really? How rude of me." Vernon looked mournful, a quick finger lifting to wipe away an imaginary tear. He heaved a theatrical sigh and loped listlessly alongside the Princess. "I should have known. My only excuse was that my wants so eclipsed my good sense that I was powerless to reason."

"Vernon…"

"Entirely at your service."

Sarah sighed and looked sideways. "You're an idiot," he said, recklessly coming out with it.

Vernon laughed and then thumped a clenched fist on his chest. "I am a simple man, beauty, enslaved to my simple heart."

"Please don't go on like that. It's really awkward."

"Why?" Vernon asked, calming down obligingly.

"What am I supposed to do?" Sarah snapped back, "It's embarrassing, for one. For another, I don't like it. I can't say I like being laughed at."

"Laughed at? Beauty, none would dare laugh at you."

"You're doing it again."

"But, Sarah, one look at your proud, cold profile and I melt to my knees, hardly daring to raise my eyes to such perfection. How dared I or any other laugh at you?"

"Vernon…"

"Sarah?"

Sarah shook his head and didn't finish that sentence. There was no point. Vernon was Vernon and at least the hired diplomat was his usual self again. Sarah recalled their encounter from the evening before and couldn't help the pang of confusion. It had been a strange day- the day before. And the day ahead was liable to be stranger still.

No matter what Sarah said, Vernon elected to walk with him back to the door of Sarah's quarters. Ostensibly to ensure his safety, but hinting along the way that he was avidly interested in finding out where Sarah's rooms were.

The Peshawa was avidly interested in his letter. The paper crinkled in his pocket and he wanted so badly to be alone so he could read it once more in peace. This person almost seemed to sense what he would encounter, and responded almost directly to Sarah's thoughts at the time. Quite apart from that, the letters were becoming far more animated and far more urgent. Less reflective and more active.

Sarah was completely at a loss to know who was writing to him.

The furtive secrecy and danger only added to the excitement.

Vernon walked him to his door, saying very little for the last five minutes of the journey, other than a quiet greeting to some people they passed. He had put a hand on the small of Sarah's back for that, clearly stating his claim and forbidding anyone else to approach.

Sarah didn't notice, naturally. Vernon suspected the Peshawa didn't truly understand most of it- not the rules, not the caution, certainly not the reputation.

Jareth was certainly mad. And now this! Vernon wasn't blind and Sarah was transparent. Reservations and good sense were forcing him to step back from the situation and refuse involvement. It was none of his concern. Likely Jareth knew about it and was already taking steps to combat it. There was no need for him to add his speeches, Vernon reasoned.

At the door, he stopped Sarah and held up a hand. "I'm asking to come in for a purely friendly matter. Just a few moments and I'll leave."

He used his considerable experience in persuading reluctant listeners to give him some time to explain. Vernon got into the room and felt the thing had been done quite neatly. "Very pretty," he approved.

"What's the problem?" Sarah demanded.

He looked straight at his soft mouth and resigned himself to the inevitable. "Sarah, who will be coming to your room sometime today?"

It took a little while. The young man was flabbergasted. Vernon couldn't blame him; it was a delicate subject.

"Are you insane?" Sarah asked in morbid fascination, "You must be. No one asks stupid things like that unless they're pathological and possibly into conspiracy theories."

"Pardon?"

"What kind of question was that?"

"I'm asking out of concern."

"It's none of your business!"

"I'm sorry, Sarah," Vernon said firmly, "Jareth entrusted you to my safekeeping. I have to make sure I return you unharmed."

"Return me?"

Vernon winced at the yell.

"What the fucking hell do you mean- return me? What am I? A pen that you borrowed? Who and what I do in the privacy of my own room is no business of yours! I'll thank you to leave right now."

"I can't."

"You can't?"

"I can't," he repeated patiently.

Strands of dark hair waved as Sarah shook his head. "Did I hear you say you can't? See, you turn around and put one foot in front of the other. Repeat this process until you are at the door, after which you open the door and go back to putting one foot in front of the other. I'll even shut the door for you."

"Most amusing," he said thinly, "Please, listen to reason."

"Not yours," Sarah said finally.

"Alright. Then let me give you some advice. You are unknown. You are more idea than person at the moment and ideas are very attractive in the Allorn Courts. People like ideas. They abuse them, manipulate them and show very little respect for the essential truth of the idea in this place. If you don't take care to do as you are told, chances are you will get in trouble. And if you get in trouble, chances are people will find out. Scandal is always messy."

"Thank you. Now get out."

Vernon wanted to leave, he really did. But from the look in those furious green eyes, Sarah hadn't understood what he was trying to tell her. "Sarah, as your father's heir, you cannot afford to make your first impression ridiculous! Believe me, you don't want to know what Robert has already done to Jareth."

That was going too far. "Done to Jareth." Sarah took a step closer. It was probably his father's temper because he felt as though he would cheerfully rip Vernon's scalp from his head and use it as a gag while he broke every bone in the man's body. "One, my dad has done nothing to Jareth. Two, I asked you to leave. And if you don't, then I will actually call on the Goblin King and have him tell you to leave me alone."

Vernon left it at that. He smiled and nodded. "I thought you would react this way," he said frankly, "But I thought it only right to try. I'll go now, Sarah."

"You will address me by title," he cut in, drawing himself to his full height. The tiny twist of his lips was a little nasty, all things considered. "After all, I am my father's heir. A little respect, if you please."

"Very well, Your Highness. Pray excuse me now. I will see you this evening."

"Hopefully not," Sarah said spitefully.

The letter had lost its flavour after such a spectacular loss of temper.


	41. Chapter 41

For the most part, Robert was only vaguely aware of the passing scenery. One tree looked much the same as another. They walked; that was all she knew. Where they were going was not up to her to decide.

A few of their fellow hunters had looked askance at them for their obvious lack of implements. Robert could have told them that Jareth never touched anything remotely considered weaponry. Neither did she for the most part. She had no talent for aggression. Other iigas had the instinct and were trained in the physical arts, providing entertainment or protection. Bodyguards were almost as highly prized as Sex slaves.

"Right," Jareth interrupted.

Robert didn't bother answering. She simply followed him, as was her duty.

"This phoenix," Jareth continued softly, "Why would I want it?"

"It's a delicacy," Robert answered truthfully, "Native to Dross."

"Yes, I know. I have eaten it. But why bring the phoenix here? The Drossians breed them for eating. Catching the wilders is a lifetime's ambition."

"Is it?" Robert turned her face slightly and Jareth didn't look to be doing more than staring straight ahead. There was no looking up or down at him. They were the same height. The light curve of his nose seemed especially sharp against a sudden burst of dark green shrubbery.

"I'm led to believe so. I had nothing to do with the Nature committees."

"What field was your family in?"

"My father was a general minister. My mother's family was … something in the line of clothe, I believe."

"You believe?"

"She never said," he laughed.

Robert smiled too. "You never asked," he countered boldly, "I'll bet on it."

"You'd win," Jareth admitted, still amused by the memory, "Does it matter?"

"No. I only thought to ask. I never did before."

"No, you didn't. Did you want to?"

"Sometimes. No one speaks of your family," Robert observed, tying up her hair again finally because the climate was far too hot for long walks, "I can't think if it's discretion or something else."

"Possibly something else. I'm somewhat of a harlequin figure in this little circle."

"Oric would have to be Columbine, then. The figure of everything desirable."

Something flickered across the Goblin King's face for just a second. He merely placed a gloved hand lightly on Robert's sleeve. "Why not you, truina? I'd much rather have you than Oric."

"You're just upset because she hasn't been the gracious hostess yet," Robert retorted. It came a little easier, since Jareth seemed to have some perverse desire to be argued with. Helos knew why! The Goblin King couldn't abide being dictated to.

"It is an insult."

"Everything insults you."

"Not everything." The tone was a warning.

Robert stopped immediately.

Jareth dropped his hand with a sigh.

They returned to walking in silence. At least until he caught her hand and heaved her to a tree, snarling as though some ridiculous thread of control had snapped inside of him and he was already calling himself a fool for giving in.

In between kisses he murmured, absolving himself from blame. "You've been luring me for the past three hours," he accused. Then he fastened his mouth back to hers and skimmed the tip of his tongue over her upper lip. "Open." There were commands. But there had always been commands.

This was a pattern Robert was familiar with. She opened her mouth obediently and traded kisses with no passion. Jareth didn't appear to notice. He only renewed his attack on her mouth, his hands sliding up to push her more firmly against the tree, sliding himself across her hip.

Robert would have gone down but he was still focused upon kissing her. She calculated from memory how long the foreplay would take.

Jareth let go altogether. And then rested flush against her as he got his breath back.

"Witch," he said with no real conviction.

She had said. She had told him she could do this. It would be better to try. Jareth was easily bored and Robert's position was precarious without some kind of protector. Besides, Sarah needed her Dam, even if Robert could be of no constructive help in that department. Robert couldn't jeopardize her position in Jareth's life. For all concerned.

"Let me," she said calmly, lifting a hand to his waist.

He tensed against her and pulled away. "What is it the humans call this- a pity fuck? Is that what you're offering?"

"I'm offering to relieve a strain," Robert said softly, "I don't know what else to do."

"Ignore it."

"I'm not trained for that."

"Then you had better control yourself, hadn't you?"

Jareth clicked his tongue in annoyance and stepped away. He straightened his clothing with a shocking lack of modesty or politeness, not offering to turn his back in the presence of the female. He simply adjusted his breeches, and then buttoned his coat up to the middle of his chest. It was too hot, but there were other hunters roaming the forest. It was enough to be Royalty in their presence without letting an inadvertent glimpse of his personal life intrude into the mix.

"Do you need anything?" Robert asked once more.

He looked at her face and relaxed. "Plenty of things," he chuckled ruefully, "Namely a bath, a drink and a cigarette. I suppose you can't grant those things, can you?"

"Unhappily, no."

"Come then. Onwards and so on." Jareth whirled around and strode- actually strode- for five paces before halting in mid ride and walking with a slightly more measured step. The arrested look of discomfort on his face made Robert smile and bite her lip.

"This," Jareth grit out, "Is not funny."

"Yes, loquewren."

"Witch," he repeated.

Robert didn't answer back. She kept her face calm and pleasant, offering no more with her eyes than a watchful quietude.

He shot one knowing glance at her and ignored her from thereon in. For an hour and a half they walked in silence. And then, without rhyme or reason, his fingers closed unexpectedly on hers and he whirled her to another tree. One kiss and he left her stunned against the wood and blinking as he walked calmly away.

Robert shook her head to clear the ringing and wondered in no little alarm what game her owner had decided to play. She didn't dare ask him out loud. He gave no sign of wanting to discuss it. Robert would prefer that he didn't either. Jareth might ask her to reciprocate and that would be dangerous.

Five minutes later, Jareth did it again. And walked away again.

Robert was getting a headache.

He kept pouncing on her! No matter where they were, what type of terrain they were scrambling over, or how long she kept watching and waiting, Jareth would catch her off-guard and steal a kiss. Robert got the urge to hit him the next time.

But she never did.

The next time turned into the time after and then the time after that. And still Jareth snuck in a variety of kisses and caresses. Sometimes the groping seemed lewd, at other times it was fond amusement. Once, he even contented himself with a kiss on the tip of her nose. The spice and warmth of his breath lingered on her cheeks for a while after that one.

Robert was getting dizzy with all the pushing and pulling. She'd torn her leggings on a thorny bramble, only Jareth hadn't noticed yet. She'd even tried putting her hair back to some kind of order but the next time he caught her, he only fisted his hands in her curls all the more vigorously. There was no escape from the little traces of himself that he left all over her. At any other time, Robert would think he was trying to mark her without pinning an actual notice to her breast.

After all, even if anyone did harbour a certain fascination for time alone with her, one look at her flushed cheeks, bitten lips, suckled neck and tousled hair would tell a very interesting story about the male prowling around her. Even if Jareth didn't emit a not-so subtle warning to steer clear of anything within a five-foot radius of his person.

The eighth and final time they were caught out.

Jareth didn't shift but he did tense and Robert kept her eyes closed. The snapped twig was very quiet in their distracted state. They almost never heard it over their heartbeats.

The woman gave a derisive snort and stalked off in the opposite direction.

Robert raised an eyebrow and looked back at Jareth.

The Goblin King smirked unashamedly. "Tragic," he commented, "We should have shown her more."

Robert smiled but felt a touch of relief for the interruption. "Jareth, you're not the least bit interested in a phoenix, are you?" she questioned, "I don't know why I get the feeling that you don't, but I'm picking up signals here."

"Should I want a phoenix, I could import one," Jareth shrugged, "Trapping one is hardly my greatest thrill."

"I thought Dross didn't allow the export of their phoenix?"

"I have business contacts, truina."

"Of course."

"You know that."

Robert did know that. Jareth had lots of business contacts. Like his goblins, he had a very basic belief in the obvious. It might not be noble, but business contacts were almost as important as political contacts. Businessmen were all-powerful in some dimensions. Robert had forgotten that.

Jareth lifted a hand and a small clock sat upon his palm. He gazed at the dial in resignation and then dropped his hand. The clock disappeared. "We should return to the palace. It's getting late."

"Do you think Sarah is alright?"

"Vernon will answer if she isn't."

"That isn't the point. Revenge won't change anything, you know."

Jareth just looked at her with that peculiar expression of knowing in his dual-coloured eyes. "No, it doesn't." He left it at that and conjured up a compass. They weren't too far from the start of the hunt. Mostly they had circled around. Forty-five minutes along and they joined another group of three hunters on their way back to the lodge.

The snake-like Nelderbrae flicked her tongue out to wet her lips when she saw the Goblin King and his mate. "Greetings, Your Majesty."

"Ciraphine," Jareth returned coolly.

Robert offered a swift, light, informal salutation and then desisted from taking any further part in the occasion. She stayed with Jareth, ignoring the way the back of his hand regularly brushed her fingers.

Jareth talked. He was charm itself, holding back the flurry of bowing and scraping by the steely application of cold arrogance. Everyone knew he was charming because he wanted to be. It didn't detract from it; it simply made it more awkward to see through the bluff.

When they reached the lodge, the glares from other tired hunters warned them that the phoenix had not been caught. The Huntsmaster was talking in a low undertone to a group of Allorns, describing the best method to catch a ferntail river rat.

Robert caught the eye of the woman who had come upon them in the forest and the woman pursed her lips in disapproval and turned away. The Peshawa was not particularly upset. Why the woman would disapprove at all was beyond Robert to understand.

"Well, Ciraphine, we will see you at the palace," Jareth ended, dismissing the Nelderbrae with the calm assurance that she wouldn't want to stay when he so obviously had nothing more to say to her.

The Ciraphine bowed once, ignored Robert, and left.

"Our ride should be here by now," Jareth said softly, turning back to his mate. He offered his arm with a smirk. "Shall we, My Lady?"

Robert hated it when he said that.

Something must have shown in her face because his own harsh features softened somewhat. "I'm not mocking you," he told her.

"I didn't think…"

He shook his head and she didn't finish that sentence. He preferred her not to spout reassurances in public. It was not a good sign for a Peshawa to imply that her Master did not know her intimately. At least, not when they were in a very committed and very long-standing relationship.

"Yes, loquewren." She took his arm and dropped her lashes slightly.

"Up," he said even softer.

She straightened her chin and looked straight ahead.

"If I had wanted a fearful little miss," he continued, in the same half-conversational undertone, "I would have taken one from the scores of traders who tried to wander across my lands."

"Yes, loquewren."

"Remember that."

"Yes." She didn't add the formal title.

The cat was waiting outside, curled up with its tail swishing gently in the grass. It rose when Jareth gave the order and stretched.

The journey back to the palace was conducted in silence. Jareth didn't seem to find the same humour in their situation any more. There was only the servant to see to their mount when they alighted at a side entrance and went in.

The palace seemed disserted. They passed no one and heard no voices, no footfalls. Robert couldn't help comparing it to the Castle at the Centre of the Labyrinth. She had never actually lived in there but there was always someone, some distraction. The goblins came and went where they liked. They sang and yelled and played games in the corridors. They were like children, bringing destruction and mayhem everywhere they went. The Palace at Bienheir was entirely different. Every corner and crevice was filled with the beautiful and the exotic. Children were not encouraged to attend the palace. The treasures of the Allorn Queen were too fragile for rowdy games and noise.

Robert didn't like the mess and clutter of the goblins. Neither did she like the nerve-wracking restrictions of the allorns. For herself, she preferred Earth. Robert couldn't even imagine Sarah growing up in such places as the Allorn Queen's palace.

"Ring for some hot water," Jareth ordered, "We should bathe before dressing. What is for tonight?"

"An enchantment evening," Robert answered.

The Goblin King sighed. "Outdoors, then. Thank Fate for small blessings."

"At Variety Gate," Robert offered, "What am I to wear?"

Jareth looked at her steadily. Strange eyes taking in the finer points of her figure while his mind was obviously assessing the situation. "I have something," he said suddenly. His eyes narrowed and then widened again as his lips curled up at the corners. It wasn't a reassuring gesture. "Go have the baths drawn. I'll see to Sarah."

He left Robert with that dreadful anticipation and went next door. But Sarah wasn't there. Jareth swore under his breath and felt an unaccustomed stab of real anxiety. And then he saw the note pinned to the cover of the writing desk.

Sarah had left. It was as simple as that. She proposed to meet her parents at Variety Gate.

Jareth went back to his room with a frown. And then the frown cleared when his mind returned to the little plan forming in his mind.


	42. Chapter 42

Author's Note: Taking a while, isn't it? Sorry. I'll get back on track, I promise.

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Robert shook his head slowly. "I don't understand," he confessed, "First you tell me to change- for the second time today too …"

"You changed the first time yourself," Jareth interrupted, "I never asked for it."

They locked eyes in the mirror and Jareth only smiled in that smug way of his, dabbling languidly around the little pots and boxes on the dressing table counter. Robert didn't quite know what to make of that.

"I'm sorry," the Peshawa said, "I decided the first time. But I thought you wanted me female."

"I did." The still-damp fingers suddenly dived into the corner and emerged with a box of cotton. "Now I want you male. Is that a problem?"

It wasn't. Not as such. It was embarrassing, and more than a little confusing, but even if all this coming and going was not exactly the right public image they needed to present, he couldn't- in all conscience- say that it was a problem.

"No," he said.

Jareth nodded abstractly and discarded the cotton with a sound of displeasure. "I was sure I brought it," he remarked.

Robert didn't dare ask what the other man was looking for. He just stood there, arms at his sides, and hoped somehow Jareth would get around to telling him what was going on.

"Well? Aren't you going to dress?" Jareth brought out.

"What should I wear?"

"Anything you like." Jareth stood up and stretched, one hand rising to ease the knot out of his shoulder. He turned around and left the room with businesslike haste.

Robert watched him leave and caught one glimpse of that pale face smudged with blue and green light and then the door closed. He was on his own.

Jareth bit his lip to keep from laughing, well aware of the look on Robert's face. He sat down on the edge of his bed, drawing one leg up to rest his chin upon. His smile disappeared as he stared thoughtfully at the door and wondered how long it would take to render it useless. What Robert would really respond to and whether he really wanted to provide that.

Jareth was well aware that he was not a romantic person. He preferred to be practical and a little cold. That did not make a quick seduction easy. Besides, Jareth's methods of seduction were never successful with Robert. The other man was in the habit of interpreting every invitation as an order and that, Jareth felt, was an annoying character trait.

It all came down to trust.

The Goblin King sat there for a long time, drying in the cool light on the edge of his bed. Whenever he was in Beinheir, it was easy to forget the more important issues. He found himself wondering about his kingdom for the second time that day. Goblins were destructive creatures and he wasn't looking forward to finding Troy overwhelmed with the effort of keeping things going. Never leaving the Underground had its practical uses as well as personal ones.

Would Troy manage to keep the Castle standing, at least? He hoped so.

There had been that time when a trio of the little rats had picked the lock to his gunpowder store. He had turned his entire retinue, small as it was, right around at the sight of his gutted Castle and made for Saxony's dimension, so cold with rage and frustration that he couldn't trust himself not to kill someone.

In retrospect, Saxony had not been the smartest choice to make, Jareth reflected, finally getting off the bed and walking to his closet. Perhaps that was his fault too, however, for he had refused to do more than say he wasn't in the mood for goblins at the time and threatened danger if his friend didn't give him at least a stable for his mount.

"I'll sleep with the beast if I must but I'm not going back there," he'd said.

Stupid. Very stupid. Saxony had misinterpreted the whole situation when he saw the Goblin King turn that anger on the closest person who couldn't fight back.

Jareth winced and looked at the door again. Robert hadn't had a good time of it, suffering the indignities in silence for the most part. He had ended up getting between a crystal and a troll because his lover could not control his heavily disturbed mood. That had been cruel; Jareth freely admitted it. A troll would have suffered a few moments of pain. Robert had suffered a severe burn to the chest and Jareth's irritability had not improved with guilt.

He scowled at the mantelpiece above the fireplace and wondered why they had ever bothered.

"Jareth?"

The knock at the door was extremely timid.

"Come in," he called, whisking a shirt- any shirt- out of the closet to cover himself.

Robert hesitated for a moment but entered, his eyes darting for some strange reason around the room as though afraid of what he would find. "I came to ask if you needed my help," he said quietly.

"Help?"

"Yes."

Jareth came back to the present world with a bump. "Not as such. I dress myself for the most part. Why? Are you done?"

Robert nodded and held up a simple black jacket.

Jareth looked him up and down and approved with a nod of his head. "You look nice," he said artlessly, "I remember that shirt. I thought you hated it."

"I thought you would like it," Robert returned.

"I liked a lot of things," Jareth said, "You didn't quite share my tastes." He yanked a shirt from his pile and shrugged when he saw what it was. "Very well, then. Green or Blue?"

"Blue."

Jareth tossed the blue away and laid the green on the bed with a smirk for his former lover. He began to dress with seemingly no more thought for the audience in his room. "You never did learn," he said.

Robert had nothing to say to that. He only watched, frowning a little when Jareth wasn't looking because he knew Jareth, and Jareth only dressed himself extravagantly when he was hell bent on making a point. The last time… Robert hadn't liked the last time.

"Jareth?" he asked, "Is everything all right?"

"Fine." The Goblin King offered him a rather distracted glance and then bent his concentration to his breeches. He had dressed in loose black trousers but he was still restless for something new. Snapping his fingers, he drew a plain length of black silk from a trunk by the wall and deftly folded it to suit his needs.

Robert blinked in shock but wisely said nothing. It was worse than he had imagined if Jareth was dressing in the fine line between eccentricity and trash. Logically, an outdoors event meant less formality but it was the Allorn Courts and Oric was horribly sticky about such things.

The silk shimmered with gold flakes woven through the black, catching the darkening light with spidery designs that enticed and entranced.

"Do you recognize this?" Jareth laughed, twisting easily around to tie the knot at his left hip. "Niko's little gift."

Robert's mouth twisted up at the corners, the humour bubbling up instantly. Gift, nothing! It had been another payment, a shawl of Beatrice's that Jareth had taken a fancy to and asked for something in the same vein. A mad, insane, idiotic desire to be outrageous because he knew he could be- then as now.

It was an interesting look and quite refreshingly comfortable. It made the Goblin King look younger than his uncounted years.

"How much time do we have?" Jareth asked off-hand, moving away to the dressing room.

Robert stole a look at a clock and said, "Another hour or so," quite truthfully. His anticipation building, he followed Jareth wordlessly back into the dressing room.

The Goblin King sat, briefly dragging a brush through his hair and then pulling it away from his temples to make a face at the mirror. "Ridiculous," he announced, "Call the thing a picnic and be done with it."

"I hardly think so," slipped out before Robert could stop himself.

"You don't?" The light voice was almost mocking, but with gentle humour to sooth the bite.

Jareth dipped a brush into black paint and started on his eyes, going through the motions as though it were a normal day, as though he were not changing his public face to something fey and fanciful. Careless strokes with the brush on his upper eyelids and he dropped it straight to the table, leaving it there for a pot of dark carmine and another, thicker brush.

Robert had only ever seen Jareth paint his mouth red once, and that had been so very long ago. Right back to the very beginning. Before anything had even started, really, and it was only their first public appearance together. Jareth had painted his lips and worn red velvet and Robert had felt confused by the fact that the Goblin King was happy to put himself on display and take the attention away from his nervous Peshawa.

"You look pensive," Jareth said, daubing at the corners of his mouth. He was almost done.

He stood up, gathered up another box, and dipped his long fingers in for a scoop of shimmering, shining gold powder. He caught Robert's horror-stricken eyes in the mirror and laughed. "Too much?" he taunted, before flinging the handful up into the air above him.

Robert thanked the Fox God that he had escaped the downpour.

Jareth hadn't. But then he hadn't intended to. Gold dust settled in the lines of his blond hair, on his broad shoulders and freshly painted dark lashes, on his cheeks and mouth, still staining the tips of his soft fingers. He stared contemplatively at his own reflection and then dipped back into the box. This time he carefully outlined his collarbones with the dust, deliberately coating it thickly to stand out.

Then he dusted his hands and picked a tiny key out of thin air.

Robert knew that key. It was for the little wooden chest that sat on the table. Jareth never wore jewellery and Robert had always preferred that he didn't, but sometimes… well, Robert wouldn't dare stop Jareth doing whatever it was he decided to do.

The simple green and gold earring clipped easily into Jareth's ear and the Goblin King turned around and said something very low.

Robert started and shook his head. "Sorry. What was that?"

Jareth sighed. "Nothing important. I have friends I must meet before this evening. I can come back for you later."

Robert nodded; relieved to think he wouldn't have to adopt his role for another hour or so. Jareth's friends were mostly working companions. No doubt they would get into a discussion on anything ranging from economics to architecture to social commentary. Jareth enjoyed such things, drawing on a wide range of experiences in his kingdom. He knew little of the theory but his intelligence was formidable.

"On the other hand…"

Robert got his coat and stifled a groan of frustration. "I'll come with you," he said smoothly, knowing Jareth well.

Jareth didn't interfere with his thoughts on the walk from their rooms in the east wing of the palace to the open rooms in the south part. He paused occasionally to look at the artifacts scattered around but he kept his opinions to himself.

Robert caught the eye of a boonan as it slipped unnoticed past them and he detected a distinct note of disbelief in its hastily repressed mental language. Jareth was a picture of excess and decadence and even the servants noticed it.

Three others were in the room and Robert instantly straightened when he spotted Vernon stretched out in a chair. Sarah wasn't with him and when Jareth had said their daughter had already dressed and gone, Robert had assumed it had been with Vernon. But Vernon was alone and Sarah was nowhere to be seen. He feared for her.

From the almost imperceptible hesitation in step that Jareth made, Robert concluded the Goblin King had noticed the same thing.

It was more obvious when Jareth quite simply voiced his concerns aloud- "Vernon, I hope you deposited my daughter somewhere safe before you left her."

Vernon bounded lightly to his feet. His concentration broke as he looked Jareth up and down in no little wonder and then he caught the dangerous look in those cold eyes and went back to the topic at hand. "I left Her Highness in her room."

"Of course. How stupid of me," Jareth drawled, "It never occurred to me to look for Sarah in her room."

Vernon coloured slightly and Robert felt quite happy for his embarrassment.

"I have no notion where she might be," the diplomat ended calmly, "I can send a servant to locate her, however, should you wish me to."

Jareth sat down and said, "no" with enough disparity that it ended the conversation. He turned his gaze and it landed on another old acquaintance. "Hello, Saxony."

"Jareth. In a bright mood today?" Saxony goaded.

"Do you know," Jareth began, steepling his fingers before his mouth, "I find that the brighter the light, the darker the heart of its source. Don't you think?"

"Are you a bright light, then?"

Thin, carmine red lips curved with a surprising amount of warmth. "I might be," Jareth laughed, dropping his hands and relaxing, "I might even be the dark source. Only you, my friend, can say. Have you heard about our hostess?"

"Oric?" Saxony grinned and leaned forward. "They say she is ill."

"Her Majesty is remarkably overworked," Vernon said peaceably.

Both Jareth and Saxony cast him a knowing look each. "Were she ill," Saxony said, "We would have been asked to leave for our safety. So she isn't ill."

"Perhaps she is merely tired and disheartened."

"The humans have a word for that," Jareth interjected. He turned to Robert and asked matter-of-factly, "What was it, love? Something to do with sadness."

Love? Robert panicked. "Depression," he offered.

"Thank you, yes. Depression. Wonderful stuff, human psychology. Most amazing."

"Humans," Saxony said seriously, "Are the future of the worlds. We should make contact with them. None of the fairytale contact that we have now but real communication between our worlds. They have so much to teach us."

"Most of which we don't need," Vernon dismissed, "Telephonics, isn't it?"

"Phones," Robert corrected without thinking, "Telephones."

Vernon and Saxony didn't know what to make of this sudden breach in Peshawa good manners. But Jareth looked blankly back at them as though nothing had happened and so they continued, ignoring it for the most part.

"Humans must be intelligent," Saxony reasoned, "They are a little misguided, but then every culture has its foibles. The Nelderbrae eat their dead. My trolls believe that the dead must be burned. Your goblins just bury them in their grain fields! But we don't tell each other what to do with the dead. We just accept and understand."

"Yes, but no other culture apart from the humans has tried to kill their own people before telling everyone else what to do with the dead," Vernon retorted.

"Robert?" Jareth prompted.

Robert looked at him mutely for a long moment, hoping it was just a joke, but Jareth only looked back at him with gentle enquiry.

"The- the humans don't know better," he tried, "That is to say, they don't know that anything beyond their world exists. Their focus is so narrow. Their world is also much bigger than every other known dimension. Its population totals the combined numbers of trolls, goblins, and dross at least, if not more than that. With the fragmented state of their landmass, it's no wonder they find each other difficult. They can't help warring amongst themselves."

"So we don't blame them for not having better sense?" Jareth clarified.

"They do have better sense. But they don't know how to counteract the violence."

Jareth nodded and said, "It reminds me of a case when two goblins were fighting over a jug of beer."

"Beer? And it came to you?" Vernon laughed.

"It came to me. By the time it came to me, however, I called them both fools and idiots and they realized that in all the weeks they had spent fighting over the beer, the beer in the jug had evaporated and there was nothing left to fight over."

"I can do one better," Saxony challenged, "My trolls have a certain tradition of celebration called the kiristup. You know this, Jareth, you've seen this. They give presents of good intentions or promises. One case I had, two families were feuding. One of the little trolls, trying to seal the rift, gave his rival counterpart the gift of a coin. The other little troll went back to his parents and asked for something to give his new friend. The parents, being stupid and prejudiced, simply used the coin to buy a club and then murdered the head of the other family."

"That is gruesome," Evelyse broke in, listening from the door of the room.

"Welcome, Your Grace," Jareth smiled up at her.

Most Peshawa, no matter how high born they were, were not expected to keep a seat if another of the free-born races were standing. Robert made to give her his seat but to his bewilderment, Jareth caught his arm and shook his head slightly. Robert kept his seat and didn't know whether to laugh that Vernon had quite pleasantly stood up and made his excuses to leave the conversation without even noticing.

Evelyse had noticed, however, and Saxony. Neither of them commented on it.

"How is the Queen today?" Saxony asked.

"She will be attending tonight," Evelyse said easily, "Your Majesty, I was asked to bring you a message. Lenard Skase awaits you in the ante room. He asks that you join him."

"Oh, yes!"

Jareth distrusted the neat way Evelyse had got rid of the only other person left in the room. His instincts told him something was wrong and almost automatically he summoned a crystal to check on Sarah. He stiffened in his seat at the sight but banished it when Saxony took his leave. "We'll see you at Variety Gate," he agreed.

Evelyse said nothing until Saxony was gone and then she shut the door and looked around, returning to sit with them with her pretty face quite serious.

"I know where she is," Jareth brought out, holding up his hand when she opened her mouth to speak, "How long has it been going on?"

"I spoke with the servants," Evelyse said unhappily, "Since you arrived. I had no idea until a few hours ago. It was discreetly done. No one else knows that I can tell."

"Someone knows," Jareth sighed, "Someone always knows. Well, it can't be helped. My dear, would you give me a minute to talk to Robert in private?"

Robert was at a loss. Nothing that Jareth said could be so private that Evelyse needed to leave. Not for a Peshawa, surely. Jareth wouldn't inconvenience people for a Peshawa. Yet Evelyse had smiled and nodded politely, leaving them alone in the room with the assurance that she would make sure they were undisturbed.

Jareth told him without preamble. "It's Sarah," he said, offering him a crystal to see for himself, "The girl's fallen headlong into trouble."

Robert didn't want to look down- didn't dare to- but after Jareth had said something unintelligible for a good few minutes that Robert couldn't hear over his own thoughts, he dropped his green eyes to the cool orb in his hand and peered apprehensively into it.

Sarah was there. He looked quite nice, really, dressed in silver and black.

Jareth broke off when he saw the abstract expression on Robert's face. He stopped talking and let Robert just take it in.

"Oric?" Robert almost couldn't believe it. "What's Sarah doing with Oric?"

Jareth looked at the crystal. It looked fairly simple from where he was sitting. "Kissing her," he said bluntly.

Robert made a sound of pain or disgust and dropped the crystal.

Jareth banished it again and reached out to grasp the hand before it was retracted into Robert's lap. "Listen to me," he warned, "I'm going to see Oric and I'll speak with her about this. Not now. Not before Variety, but as soon as possible. Sarah won't be harmed, I promise you."

He had laughed off Robert's concerns before and he felt he owed it to the man to try to seem as though he could do something about it.

Robert bit his tongue. Hard. Very hard. Trying to drown his voice in the pain.

"Robert? Look at me, love. I know it's not pleasant but not as shocking as all that, surely?"

"I'm not shocked." Robert wished he hadn't said it but he had. He stood up because he felt his spine would break if he stayed in the chair another moment longer. The stucco bird perched in the corner of the room was mocking him with its blank eyes. "I was expecting something of the sort. What else would happen? None of you can keep your bloody hands to yourself and I warned you! I told you how it would be. You think Sarah can go back from that? You bloody stupid fool! I've spent the last twenty-five years keeping her from this and you sent her in like a lamb to the slaughter."

His voice didn't rise from a light, even pitch and even to his ears he sounded almost monotonous. But the slight narrowing of Jareth's eyes said that his tumbling anger had found its mark easily.

"She knows, now, what it feels like. She can't dismiss it any more, Jareth. It won't be a bad day or emotional strain. She'll fall to her knees and she'll beg for it, just like the rest of them. And worse, she won't even know how to control it. I've never taught her. She'll be helpless. That's what Sarah's doing with Oric. She's losing the last little bit of her innocence."

"I wouldn't go quite that far."

"I would."

"Robert…"

The man dropped gracefully to the floor, assuming position with more ease than was normal for so many years away from this culture. One leg bent up under him and the other crossing over to balance. Head bowed and hands out, palm up, in offering. Curling into a ball. A faceless, nameless, soulless ball that was entirely at Jareth's disposal.

Jareth had good reason to know that position. Robert had always retreated into it, mocking everything that Jareth had ever taught him by reverting to this most fundamental statement. Peshawa assumed this position to prove their readiness, their subservience. Robert had always assumed it to separate himself from Jareth.

The Goblin King tapped his shoulder to tell him to rise, knowing that when he did, Robert would have the blank, pleasant mask of any well brought up slave. He was right. With his temper simmering below his heartbeat, he had to remind himself that his anger was for Oric, not for Robert. Never for Robert. Not when it was unfair. Jareth knew very well the burn from his intercepted crystal had not left a scar, but the scar was still there, the impression still fresh.

Robert never forgot, or forgave.

Jareth didn't either.

They gazed at each other, sharing the same height, though Robert was broader in the shoulder and chest. Similar but far too different.

Jareth was very tempted to forgo the discussion. Robert wouldn't answer it. Jareth wasn't in the mood for it. But he was damned if this whole day was to go to waste because his daughter couldn't keep her libido under control!

"Robert, what would you have me do?" He made the supreme effort of gentling his tone, of speaking as a lover and not a master. He had rarely ever used it after the first few years but Robert had always responded. "I'm helpless here. I'm a guest in her house and Sarah has gone to her of her own free will."

Surprisingly, Robert didn't snap back. He simply shrugged and said, "I have no quarrel with you. I understand the politics but I'm angry. I think I have every right to be. Sarah will get a hiding from me for this."

"Sarah was always going to find out sooner or later."

"I know. I'd have preferred later, with someone I'd sanctioned, but it can't be helped. It's better she gets it out of her system. Jareth, I'm not angry with you, you know."

"No, I can see that." Those strange eyes blinked lazily. "It's quite refreshing."

"There's no reason to be angry. What have you done wrong? If I know the Allorns, Oric must have been very persuasive. And better someone like Oric than a servant."

"I'll talk to Oric. Perhaps I can strangle some sense into her empty head." Jareth tried to navigate the tricky balance of personal and professional design in his head.

Politically, he needed Oric at the moment. She could be dangerous and she already had reason to feel slighted by him. He had hoped the arrival of his family would soothe those troubled waters but this business with Sarah was bound to make things worse. And Sarah was not even the kind to keep his mouth shut and be accommodating.

"We should go," Robert remarked, brushing out a knot in his curls with his fingers. "We're late."

Jareth conjured up a clock and groaned. "This is only the first evening," he said dismally, "I won't survive."

Robert laughed and daringly took his arm, propelling him to the door. He put out his hand to grasp the doorknob and then stopped when Jareth did.

"Why did you drop?" the Goblin King asked, "You only do that when you want to end an argument. Why then?"

Robert had an idea. It wasn't a good one. "I don't know," he answered, "It just happened."

Jareth let it rest there but he had an idea too.


	43. Chapter 43

Author's Note: Not as much explanation as such in this chapter; sorry! More plot, though. Does that make it better? I suddenly realized that I wasn't really proceeding forward, so to speak. What with all the setting up and building up, I thought it would be best to get a move on. Besides, I was done with setting up anyway.

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The Allorn Queen caught Saxony's eye and took her young companion's hand in a formal grip, allowing him to lead her forward with as much pomp and haughty pride as though she were in her Presentation Hall. Her red head tipped a good bit to look up at the tall Troll King, but Oric managed not to seem intimidated by such a disadvantage.

Saxony offered a deep bow and cast an avid glance of interest in Sarah's direction. The princess had a very light blush on his face as he tried- and failed- to look at ease. The silver gloves on his hands left his fingers bare and Saxony chose not to remark that he saw those sensible digits tremble ever so slightly.

Oric felt them, because she let go and drew Saxony's attention swiftly back to her by extending her hand.

The man kissed the back with careful grace. "I have been waiting two days now to present my greatest compliments, Your Majesty. Allow me to say how delighted I was to receive your invitation."

"You are most welcome, King Saxony. I was most delighted to hear of your attendance."

Saxony looked at Sarah. "Your Highness. Good evening."

"Good evening, Your Majesty," Sarah murmured.

Oric smiled and leaned closer to the young man, pressing her arm playfully against his. "Have you met already, Sarah?"

"We have met before," Saxony interjected, "His Highness was kind enough to go to mass with me this morning."

"Ah, yes." Oric pulled a long feather from her red hair and fluttered it affectingly against Saxony's shoulder. "I was busy. Was it any good?"

"Most invigorating," Saxony said.

"Of course," Oric continued, "When one has attended the same mass for so many years of one's life, one gets bored. I have told them to change things and create new rituals, new chants. But of course they won't. It's most surprising."

"I think they mean tradition to transcend the passage of time. The, er, same beliefs in good times and bad, so to speak," Saxony remarked.

Sarah looked from one to the other, mute and attentive. If he found himself more aware of the soft mouth than the words it spoke, he put the thought from his mind and concentrated on the conversation as best he could.

Oric had evidently seen someone else she meant to meet because she made her excuses and tapped Sarah's arm. "We must have another talk, soon. There are a few matters that I want to discuss with you." She sent him a speaking look with her eyes and moved on.

At first, Sarah didn't notice where they walked, too engrossed in the feel of perfumed skin soft beneath his fingertips. So recently since that kiss had sent his head spinning and he found it hard to remember that he was in public. A slow burn traveled up his sides, fusing beneath his ribs to fuel an urgency that was uncomfortable, if a little exciting.

"Oric."

The flat, calm voice was a bath of cold water.

Sarah blinked, refocused and stiffened. Oric kept a light hold of his arm. Sarah couldn't shake her off even if he wanted to.

"Are you well?" Jareth asked blandly, "Clairen gave me the impression of severe exhaustion. I hadn't expected to see you tonight."

"I slept through the morning," Oric returned, matching the polite bluntness with a fire of her own. "You are welcome too, Robert. You look well."

"Your Majesty." Robert was far more formal. Oric had always expected it from him. He hadn't expected her to change that view. "Sarah."

"Hi, Dad."

"I was given to believe that you were in, ah, another form," Oric said sweetly, "I remember how charming you always looked in a gown. I'm so disappointed to be denied that pleasure."

"The pleasure isn't for you," Jareth mocked lightly, "Lannon, how do you like Variety Gate?"

"It's beautiful. Really. The lights look magical."

"Thank you, Sarah. Jareth, you have the sweetest daughter."

He nodded in an off-hand manner and gave his 'sweet daughter' a sharp look. He could recall a certain conversation when she had asked if she could lure a woman. Sarah was currently on the verge, radiating so bright that it would only take another slow release of energy to turn every head in the vicinity.

He reached unobtrusively behind and touched Robert's fingers, urging him forward. "Oric, I would like a word with you. In private, please."

"Work, Jareth? Here?" She laughed quietly and shook the long feather at him. "Not tonight."

"Tonight, my dear," he murmured, ushering her away.

Robert knew what his mate wanted; he always did. He took Sarah to a corner of that small clearing with its circle of thick trees and whispered instructions to him until that bright aura calmed to something less inappropriate.

"Compress it," he warned, "Don't bury it; just pull it back a little, okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Dad." Sarah shook his dark head and lifted a hand to push a loosened strand behind his ear. "So a guy again, huh? Doesn't Jareth ever make up his mind?"

"Occasionally," Robert grinned, "I'm a little glad he's changed it this time. I wasn't looking forward to coming down here in a skirt."

"Oh? Why?"

"Trees," Robert elaborated, "It's easy to get pulled away into shades and behind trunks. Trust me. Jareth had me dancing at these outings just to keep me in the middle of the clearing."

Sarah laughed and leaned back against a tree, somehow feeling comfortable with the topic. Now that his dad was male again, it was almost like talking about a different set of people entirely. "So you two danced the night away, eh?"

"Something like that. Jareth doesn't like dancing, really."

"But you do?"

"Sometimes, yeah. Why?"

"Oh, nothing." Sarah thought of the conversation he had had with Jareth in the ballroom. Jareth had seemed to enjoy it well enough at the time. "So who'd you dance with, then?"

"Ironically- Jareth. He never liked handing me off to other people."

"Right." Sarah thought that sounded- in a strange way- quite romantic. "Of course."

"Drop that tone, young lady, or I'll ground you till the cows come home."

Sarah grinned. He cast a look back over his shoulder to see where his father had got to. More importantly, he wondered if Jareth had threatened Oric as yet. Oric had assured him that she couldn't be threatened but Sarah wasn't so sure.

"That's a nice earring, Sarah," Robert said suddenly, "When did you get it?"

The earring caught the light of a nearby lantern and gleamed dull gold, the crossed swords waving with the smallest movement of Sarah's head. "Oh, er, Her Majesty Queen Oric presented me with a, um, gift. She said it was to commemorate my- what did she call it- my first appearance in high society."

"I see."

Robert wondered how best to say it without causing Sarah more panic that was strictly necessary.

Jareth had no such scruples with Oric- "You gave my daughter a legacy, Oric. Without consulting me?"

Oric smiled at someone but said quietly, "A harmless token, Jareth."

"Hardly. You're wearing the same design on your wrist, dangling from your bracelet." He picked up a glass of wine and thrust it at her. "Smile, you witch. Your lackeys are growing suspicious."

"Witch, Jareth? How quaint. Your slave's earth stay, I suppose. Well, that may be an insult on earth but I'm hardly averse to such a compliment here, I assure you."

"I'm sure I can think of something more creative. Take the thing back."

Her cheeks reddened but Oric sipped her wine calmly and said, "No" with a steely toss of her bright head.

Jareth watched her, the cool smirk not quite un-amused at her antics. Angry, but a little resigned. "You won't change your mind."

"Were you expecting me to?"

"Not as such. I can't say this surprises me."

She smiled then, and waved at someone to keep them away as long as possible. "Let's be blunt, Jareth, when I offered marriage I was obviously a little mad. You won't do at all and I don't want a husband."

"Wonderful. I felicitate you. My daughter?"

"I'm coming to that. I am, however, lonely. Bored. Desiring company. You won't oblige. I won't flatter you; I doubt we would suit."

"I don't plan to test your theory. What about Sarah?"

Oric stopped and said, "Ciraphine, thank you for your beautiful gift. It was just what I wanted."

"Your Majesty, I wish you all the secrets of your heart at this festive time. King Jareth, you look none the worse for your hunting trip. The little phoenix has yet to be caught, yes?" She smiled at him and flipped her blond hair.

Jareth wasn't in the mood for her coy flirtations. He raised a cool eyebrow before his mind could dictate a proper course of action and he stared down at her until her smile faltered. "No, it hasn't," he said, "Perhaps tomorrow."

It was a cold, repressive thing to say. The Ciraphine fluttered a little, confused by such disdain and wondering if she had been wrong in some way. "Am I interrupting? You must excuse me; I did not know!"

"Nothing serious, Ciraphine. Just some political intrigue," Oric said lightly, waving her off, "We shall talk in a moment. Yes, just a moment, Ciraphine. Now, where were we?"

"Sarah," Jareth said promptly, "You were dismissing my claim as your new toy."

"I would hardly have used you to play fletcher," she said tartly. In spite of the heavy sarcasm, her lips twitched thinking of the pale ivory pieces scattered on Jareth's bare torso, ready to be moved according to the calculations of the dice.

"Oric, this girl is my daughter," Jareth interrupted, folding his arms casually across his chest, "It's my duty to protect her. I'm looking for a reason not to take my family and leave immediately."

"It will not look very good for you."

"I don't care," he said, shrugging, "I have the excuse of an outraged parent. You?"

"She came to me willingly. That would be my answer."

"Yes, but the girl is a Peshawa. She belongs to me. Therefore, it is only right to seek formal permission first."

"Pfft. Formal permission is archaic." She waggled her sleek fingers dismissively. "We have moved on from there, I hope."

"What are you proposing?" he asked.

"A little deal. I need some distraction. Sarah isn't averse. You hardly need her. We can officially call it building the bond between our proud nations."

"This sounds quite the deal."

"I promise I won't damage her. I'll return her as soon as she wants. I'll give her Courtship training, of course, and she will have some cultural stimulation at my palace. What do you think?"

"I think that you are sadly mistaken."

"Jareth, don't be stupid. The girl wasn't raised to be obedient. She has a mind of her own, even if she doesn't necessarily know how to align it with her needs." Oric set down her glass and tilted her chin defiantly. "She will run from you. And I'm not unhappy to have her. We can make this work for us or we can act foolishly."

"You make extraordinary sense, Oric." Jareth narrowed his eyes at her. "Who composed that charming speech?"

Her lips tightened and she straightened up, smoothing her side skirt with her palms. "You have two days to decide."

"I am tempted," he told her, "But I'm not sure I trust you."

"The point is, can you trust Sarah? Oh, and Jareth, I can make this an exchange if you'd like." She smiled a sharp, pointed little smile. All gleaming white teeth and red, red lips. "An opi for those times when your whip hand grows tired? I have a spare."

She drifted away like a rare butterfly in pink and white lace, her wide skirt giving her the fragile air of floating over the matted grass. The low back showed the small pattern inked into her skin.

Jareth placed the pattern as the deciding factor in Oric's favour. The other eligible women Greville had lined up had all been terrible bores. Weak and prudish- the lot of them. Oric, when she had heard that the Goblin King would decide her fate, had called him to her private apartment in Dross and said clearly that she intended to have the Allorn King with or without his sanction.

Jareth, stupidly, had been instantly decided. If mostly uninterested. Since Greville wanted fire, determination, beauty, wits and birth, he had concluded that Oric would do very well. Since she had taken the liberty of having the royal standard tattooed to her back in advance of the ceremony, Jareth had picked her and congratulated Greville. Unfortunately for him, Oric had done too well. Greville had ended by falling in love with a very young Cherisse priestess of a ghastly romantic disposition, no birth, and no conversation beyond the love of a plethora of Gods and Lesser Gods and Demi-Gods and Servant Gods. Jareth had never met her. He'd heard Greville describe her and that had been enough.

Of course, he reflected, his own romance had taken shape shortly after.

He smirked as he joined his former lover and daughter in the shade of the trees, the brilliance of Sarah's silver gloves flashing as he moved his hands in animated conversation. He caught a few words but could make out nothing before Sarah stopped to look uncertainly at him.

"We'll talk about it later," he offered grimly, "Now go. She's waiting for you."

Sarah took off with no more encouragement and Robert leveled a quiet green-eyed gaze at him.

"She wants her for a short time," Jareth told him, "She gives assurances and promises. I'm not comfortable with this."

"Sarah needs to know what it's like to be bartered with. It would do her good."

"You think I should take this deal?"

Robert didn't exactly answer but he didn't need to. Jareth was already wavering, his pride giving way to his ambition. Strategically, he could do much worse than let Oric have her way with this.

"Oric offered an opi in exchange," Jareth sighed, "Apparently in case I don't feel up to wielding my whip any longer. The woman is insufferable."

Robert flinched without realizing it.

"However, that is neither here nor there. I don't intend to raise a hand to you and you know it. Oric should know it too. I swore off that a long time ago."

He had. The last time… the last time had been brutal. Neither of them referred to it. Robert shivered and buttoned his coat as though he felt a chill pass the thick material of his shirt.

"Think better of me, truina." Jareth said it quietly. "I won't give you another reason to hate me."

Truina. Robert didn't trust this.

"Robert, you have something on your mind," Jareth observed, "What is it?"

"Nothing important."

"As you wish. If you'd like to talk…"

"It's nothing."

Jareth nodded and then looked out at the others. "They're dancing," he said quietly, "Would you like to join them?"

"I'm not really in the mood."

"You never are. Never were."

Robert bit his lip. That tone was so wistful. It tugged at that spot in his belly, softening his resolve. He did take a step closer, reluctantly. But he stopped there, better adept at controlling himself than his clueless daughter. He could feel the warm glow raise itself right out of his bones, pulling energy and magic with it like a wave. He reined it in easily. He hadn't felt that phantom trigger in a very long time.

"I meant with someone else. Sarah told me you liked to dance." Jareth gave him a small smile. "You needn't wait for my permission. You're perfectly capable of knowing your own mind."

Robert took another step closer.

"Alternatively, we can just talk to the people we know. There are more than enough as it stands. Half of them will talk of paintings and bedspreads but I suppose we can oblige."

The Peshawa shook his head and raised a hand to touch his temple, as though wondering at his own mind.

"Robert?" Jareth reached his hand outwards, touching those brown curls with cool leather. "I'm confusing you again. Come. Shall we forget this and mingle?"

He turned to leave and Robert made an inarticulate sound to stop him. The next second Robert covered his mouth in surprise.

Jareth sighed. "It's alright. Steady yourself."

"I'm sorry, loquewren."

"Was it something I said?"

Robert licked his lips nervously and stuck his hands in the pockets of his coat.

Jareth raised his painted brows and put his hands on his hips. "We seem to be at an impasse. I want to help, but you have to tell me how. I can't read your thoughts, love."

Love. Robert pressed his fingertips tighter into his temple. He pushed the warmth back down and took a deep breath.

"Robert, was that a lure?" Jareth asked interestedly.

"Yes," the Peshawa said shortly, "I'm sorry, I was thinking and then… I'm sorry."

Robert watched him, watched the precise movements and wondered at them. He looked out to the clearing and no one seemed to even notice that they were standing apart. No one bothered with their private world, so tangibly on display if anyone cared to look.

The numerous lanterns strung through the trees provided enough light.

"Gods, I'm sorry."

"Never mind."

"Jareth, I'm sorry." It was close enough to a public rejection.

Jareth shook his head.

"It's not that I'm not interested… look, this is difficult."

Jareth gave him a tired look. "No, it's not, really."

"Maybe not now," Robert settled on, "It's strange."

"That you are attracted to me?"

"Yeah."

Jareth nodded to show he understood. "Social delights await us."

They did leave the shade. No one looked at them strangely, or gave any indication of having watched the little tableau played out beneath the trees.

The Goblin King sparkled in green.

He was in a strange mood, Saxony noted, very tense. As though he was waiting for something to happen. He didn't seem inclined to talk and yet he had his part in a small circle of friend. Whether he gravitated to Evelyse or Oric, Niko or Brace, somehow Jareth seemed to both grab the eye and evade it.

Saxony himself didn't give it much thought. He spent his time better watching the Allorn Queen and her new conquest. That was far more interesting.

The custom of courting couples was to share a legacy. It was a charming, old-world tradition dating back to times when lovers in the restricted three circles had elected to advertise their liaison without pinning up large signs. Little designs had been used, or small symbols. It had progressed to standards and carried unspoken promises of protection from the nobler, wealthier, more influential partner. Now, it was only a pretty custom, used openly for a romance.

The trick always lay in finding it out. Where this design could be printed. An earring was obvious but the legacy itself could be anywhere from a piece of jewellery to the embroidery on a handkerchief or the pattern of a gown... the tattoo on someone's back.

A very pretty custom indeed. And sweetly innocent in its own way.

Robert couldn't bring himself to worry overmuch about his daughter. He loved Sarah, that was true, but Sarah was a Peshawa and he had got himself into this mess and would have to work his way out. Robert was more interested in his own problems.

Jareth was glimmering like a beacon and twice Robert found himself compelled to go to him, to be there with him. Jareth always acknowledged him, smiled and touched his hand or back, drew him into the circle and the conversation. Championed him too, at one point, when Robert said something he hadn't expected would be controversial.

It was… interesting.

Robert found himself losing interest in the world around him; found his eyes narrowing to the broad expanse of shoulder under that green shirt, or on the way the sash rested on those narrow hips.

He wasn't even concentrating when Jareth politely made their excuses and took him by the elbow, leading him away as though it was perfectly normal.

He was only just waking up out of his stupor when Jareth transported them back to their rooms. There, in the dark sitting room, Jareth lit up a lamp and then looked at him.

He didn't move very fast. Not like in the forest. He took his time. Leisurely placed one hand at a time on Robert's waist, minced forward until they were standing close enough to lean forward and place the whisper of a kiss on Robert's mouth.

"You were blatantly luring me." He brushed his lips across Robert's cheek. "I quite liked it," he muttered, "Do it again?"


	44. Chapter 44

Author's Note: A very short chapter, but there are parallels that I want to draw and ironies that I want to bring out.

Magos (singular- mago) are very small monsters, so small they can fit into the palm of someone's hand. They have long snouts and floppy ears that tend to tatter as they get older. They are found in cold regions because of their hideously thick pelts. Ementer, Saxony's pet, is a mago. Sometimes kept as pets by those who are rich enough to maintain a 'catchment' of them.

A catchment is a family of Magos.

An 'erotet' is a mago mate, usually temporary since the catchment makes it impossible for a life-long mate.

------------------------------------------------------

"Quarries must be utilized properly," Beatrice argued, "So-called waste material must have some use, surely."

"A quarry is a quarry, Beatrice," Oric sighed, "Pretty to look at from a distance, I grant you, but utterly unimaginative."

"It's not the aesthetic value I'm speaking of," Beatrice explained honestly, "I was thinking of the economic need to be more aware of the distribution of our goods. Why just the other day, Niko was reviewing our quarry for tersung and found trace elements of crystal in it."

"Rock crystal?"

"Yes. An inferior brand, perhaps," Beatrice said fairly, "But useful enough for cheaper tools."

"Yes, rock crystal does have its uses," Saxony contemplated, turning things over in his head. He couldn't help but remember Jareth's offer of a flippant little plan to bank on the weaknesses of the other two nations to further his own interests. "Apparently, when ground to a very fine powder, it can be used in surgery."

"Yes," Niko grunted, "If you want to kill the beggar. Dipping a cotton thread in powdered crystal is only liable to get more blood out of the patient. No, knives do their jobs well."

"There is something quite enticing about a clinical procedure," Oric contemplated, "I find myself fascinated by science. The brilliance of it."

"Is science the next pet project, then?" Saxony laughed, winking blatantly at Sarah as if to share the joke.

"Chemicals, Saxony. Chemicals."

"There is quite an insurgence in interest in that field," Beatrice observed. The lady blinked her long lashes and stared mildly out at the rest of the group with her determined chin softened by the mellow light.

Niko took her arm as though to side himself with his wife. "There's hope to find more manageable materials for industry."

"What? Out of chemicals?" Oric exclaimed.

"Chemicals to treat the metal, Oric. Besides, there have been inventions that have been successful so far."

"Hardly!"

"No, truly," Saxony protested, "Ask Niko. He can tell you."

Oric fluttered her long feather. "I'd rather he didn't. Oh, look, I see someone I really must meet with. Do excuse me. Come, Sarah."

She sailed away in a froth of skirt and red hair and Sarah looked bewildered for a moment before bowing apologetically at the silent trio gazing expectantly back at him as he trailed after his hostess.

"That one won't last," Niko finally grunted, "I'll give her ten days."

"Ten? So little faith?" Saxony shook his blond head and stroked his chin, pondering the odds. "I'd say two months."

Beatrice pursed her mouth, trying to rationalize the situation in her own mind. She quickly tallied up the negatives and compared them over, attempting to find variables that were inconsistent or interchangeable. It wasn't easy and she relied on base instinct. "May I bet too?" she asked, looking at Niko for guidance.

He looked startled.

Saxony broke in smoothly before the Vherder King had to explain himself. "Of course. What would you like to bet?"

She gave him a very detailed account, all of which he faithfully transcribed into a smoky crystal on his fingertips. Then she smiled, clapped her hands with delight, and sallied forth to meet with a friend of hers across the glade.

"There was no bet," Niko accused.

Saxony waved the fact aside with an impatient hand. "Let her bet, Niko. What harm will it be?"

The large man was satisfied with that and let it go but Saxony found himself smiling inwardly when the man immediately followed on his wife's train, standing just beside her as though it was his natural right to be there. The Gherengh King was a romantic at heart, he freely admitted it. He found it a very appealing picture, if not quite as pretty as the romantics would have liked it. They were too old, too large, too frumpy, too much at fault and too pragmatic. But still, in the absence of anything closer.

"Sax?"

He started and smiled to find Vernon standing with him, a wide smile on the diplomat's young face. "Hello, Vernon. How is the dancing?"

"Terrible," Vernon complained, "Twice now someone has stepped on me."

"Your feet are large."

"Flattery, my dear, is always potent. Flattery beneath the light of a hundred emerald leaves is more potent than most." Vernon clapped a hand to his breast, his lips parted gently as though entranced.

"That was not flattering," Saxony goaded, "I was insulting you."

"Ah, but the sweetness of your voice adds honey to the taint of bitterness. I'll tell you now, the more you insult me, the more I admire you."

Saxony bit the inside of his cheek from sheer amusement. He hadn't been subjected to Vernon's glib tongue in a long while and he enjoyed it. "I have other insults if you prefer."

"Perhaps later," Vernon suggested, "When I am less overwhelmed."

"I can stop talking altogether."

"No, just no more insults. The pain is exquisite and tormenting at the same time."

"Really?" Saxony didn't take his eyes off Sarah and he sharpened his piercing gaze until that youth turned to look back in surprise. "Quiver for me, then. Tremble. Let your skin grow hot and cold and I won't touch you even then because you are far, far beneath me, my friend."

Vernon would have bitten back something equally scathing but he saw Sarah and the dark night in those far-away green eyes put a slight thrill into his blood. He wondered if the peshawa knew that he shared Saxony's bed, that the two were intimate as friends and occasional lovers on nights when company was preferable and cold bodies thirsted for warmth. He wondered if Saxony would ever take Sarah. What it would look like to see them entwined in a bed. He wondered if Sarah would consent to it in his male form.

"You're trembling," Saxony chuckled.

"Damn your soul," Vernon pouted, breaking the moment to glare up at Saxony's laughing blue eyes, "I wasn't ready."

"Oh, was I cheating, then?"

"No, but you didn't play fair."

"In the words of our esteemed comrade- I wonder what your basis of comparison is," Saxony mocked.

Vernon threw back his head and laughed, remembering the first time he had heard the words snapped out at him with a playful bite of those wolfish teeth. "Leave him out of this, Sax. I'd rather not think of him."

"By all means." Saxony tapped the other man's arm and indicated that they should walk together. "What do you think of the girl?"

"Sarah? She seems distant."

"I thought her confused."

"Niko doesn't like her," Vernon observed.

Saxony let his hand drift lower down the curve of Vernon's spine. "Niko doesn't like anyone," he said lightly, "He barely tolerates me and he counts me a friend. God knows why Beatrice puts up with his tantrums."

They bowed and nodded to a few that they knew but most were already comfortably within their own groups. Very little real mingling took place after the first hour or so.

The glade at Variety Gate took its name from the trees around them, and from the unusual patch of dark grass right in its heart. Some said the ring was used by an ancient race that had performed strange rites in this glade. The trees were less legendary- Greville had simply planted a small, ornamental forest where no two trees were of the same species.

"How is Ementer?" Vernon asked casually.

"Fine, fine," Saxony murmured, squinting in alarm at an unusual confection of flowers in a woman's hair, "He is in confinement with his erotet."

"Tending to their litter?"

"Yes."

Vernon was fond of the little orange monster. Saxony's pet had the sunniest disposition and the most melting golden eyes. Out of all the catchment, Ementer was his favourite. "How are the young ones, then?"

"Cold," Saxony admitted. He waved politely at someone a little way away. "I'm worried about their coats. It's taking longer than normal to grow."

"Why is that?"

"I don't know. I've given orders to have them kept indoors for now. Perhaps it's only a late development."

"How long since the birth?" Vernon demanded, "Magos grow fur from the second or third day out of their mother's womb."

"It's been two weeks."

"Two weeks!" Vernon winced in pity and thought of Ementer. The poor little thing would be most confused by such a slow development. And while the catchment would gladly overlook hairless magos but the babies wouldn't survive the cold without their fur. If it came to that, Saxony would have to either keep them as indoor pets or have them euthanized.

"It's not a good sign, no. Ementer's bred well before, so has the erotet. I don't know why this isn't working out to plan."

"How big is the catchment now?"

"Twenty strong, and two more due in the next few weeks. I estimate twenty-eight by the end of this month."

"Will you sell any?" Vernon questioned, trying to imagine the cost involved in providing land and kennels for twenty-eight little monsters who ate like pigs. The thought of the noise alone was inconceivable. "Oric was interested. I could fan the flames if you like."

Saxony stopped and turned to his companion, glad to talk his new idea over with someone. "I was thinking of releasing them to a farm. What do you think?"

"They'll still breed," Vernon said doubtfully.

"I can have them neutered."

"That is true. Is the procedure dangerous?"

"Not as such. It won't hurt them and they would be the better for it."

"Then I don't see the problem with it. It won't change much, will it? They will still have their digging grounds, their paddocks, their kennels. The farm will need to be enclosed."

"No, which is why I thought of a farm. It would allow them to be independent."

Saxony explained his attempt to get them to go further and further away from the comfort of their farm. They were naturally curious little beasts, he pointed out, and maybe a few would find other habitats in their explorations abroad. Besides, the farm would be open to any magos that returned or had difficulties.

"It would also allow us to set up a better living structure for them," Saxony explained, "I can employ doctors for them, gherenghs to maintain it and the farm itself can be self sufficient if it is big enough. Anything extra can be ordered from the nearest village."

"It sounds easy," Vernon cautioned, "Too easy. Have you a farm in mind?"

"Not yet. My men are looking."

"I wonder how tame creatures can be turned wild again?" Vernon meditated.


	45. Chapter 45

"All this was to get your way," Robert shouted, gesticulating wildly to prove his point, "You have no scruples, do you? I should have known! All this coming and going…"

"Coming and going?" Jareth was dangerously close to shouting level too.

"Yes! Coming and bloody well going! Robert, do this, and Robert, do that. Look this way. Wear that. Be something else. What do you take me for?"

"Trouble," Jareth retorted, "And too much of it. Bah! I'm leaving."

"Oh, so now that I'm not going to screw you, you're not interested?" Robert stalked around the couch and got to the door before Jareth. He stood there with his back to it, blocking the exit because he refused to do without answers one way or another.

Oh, Jareth could answer a question. There was no fault there. But consistency? Useless. They had argued before and Robert knew what to expect- Jareth would be scathing in his ominously quiet voice and then he would leave. He never stayed to finish an argument.

And here, in Oric's castle, he could still magic himself out of the room with little or no difficulty, but Robert also knew that Jareth preferred to reserve his magic until such time as it was necessary. If the Goblin King wanted to move somewhere, he walked. If he wanted to retrieve something, he got it or got a servant to bring it to him.

"Move." A simple command.

Robert set his jaw and stayed obstinately where he stood.

"Truina," Jareth said calmly, "You had better move."

"No. Not until we're done."

The Goblin King whirled around in a temper and before Robert could say another word he had changed form and flown out the window.

Robert cursed for a minute and then threw himself into a couch, glaring darkly at the curtains. Now that the tempest was over, he felt quieter, guilty. He shouldn't have lost his temper. But really! 'Do it again', indeed! As if he were a performing seal!

Jareth flew for a while, happily removed from any real distress in his bird form. The part of his mind that remained constant in any situation knew full well that he was angry. And that he was insulted. And also a little embarrassed. Which came right back to anger since Jareth had not had reason to feel embarrassed for more years than he liked to remember.

He caught an air current and let it carry him for a few seconds before lifting higher. The night sky spread out above him and the forest spread out below him.

The forest.

The phoenix- and why such a ridiculous prize?

The hunt.

Robert.

Everything came back to Robert. Jareth couldn't understand why. The Peshawa insinuated himself into his life and when Jareth tried to settle him into a position that was comfortable for the both of them, Robert decided he was being victimized again.

'Make love to him'. Of all the worlds, that sentimental tripe from Earth had to be what Robert would fix in his maggot-ridden brain.

The owl swooped down and grabbed up a rat.

The next second, Jareth held it aloft by the tail and contemplated its squeaking frenzy of fear. He bent down and set it gently back on the ground.

"Go on," he sighed, "Someone else might as well be happy tonight."

The rat vanished in the long grass.

Jareth looked around and decided that it was a good night for walking. The forest was alive with sounds and he could sense the movements around him, now that his focus wasn't invested almost in its entirety in just one body.

A very nice body, that was true. Perfectly formed.

Jareth's mouth set in an obstinate line as he forcefully removed himself from that line of thought. Tonight was not for thinking because he was aware that he couldn't think clearly. Tonight was for feeling.

He ran a hand through his hair and walked to his left. Away from the Allorn Queen's palace. He wondered if Sarah was alright and couldn't bring himself to care overmuch. Oric wouldn't hurt her and Jareth didn't exactly love the girl enough to think of her constantly. He did his duty- or tried to- and if Sarah chose to defy him, then she could pay the price.

He didn't speak but let his mind wander where it willed.

The forest enclosed him, cradled his consciousness in its bowers and vines, sheltering him beneath broad brown branches.

Night flowers bloomed and Jareth thoughtlessly cupped one in his palms to smell.

There was no smell. Like so much of the Allorn Kingdom, it was an impression with no substance. No core truth. Statues with no grasp of reality. Jewellery with minute details that were crude because they were just one of a hundred other pieces. Clothing and wigs and perfumes so glutted into one wardrobe that the best lost their appeal along with the worst. He grunted and let the flower go.

A flash of green caught his eye. Dark green, with hints of emerald.

He stilled and turned his head.

The phoenix trilled liquid music at him, almost enquiringly. Seeming to ask him who he was and what was he doing there and wasn't it a fine night and how was his family and did he even have a family and where were they?

Jareth blinked.

The phoenix blinked back.

The Goblin King straightened up and held out his hand. He didn't expect the phoenix to come to him but then he wasn't calling it. He was simply directing his magic to a specific area around him, curious to know what a phoenix would feel like. He hadn't seen a wild phoenix since his childhood and even then only for a mere second or two.

The phoenix trilled again.

Jareth raised an eyebrow. From the feel of that magic he could almost imagine the bird was holding a conversation with him.

The 'bird' hopped along its branch and cocked its sleek head, watching him from bright topaz eyes. It hopped closer and then hopped back.

Jareth slowly moved a step up, tipping his own blond head to the side, amused at the antics. He didn't dare to speak, conscious that the phoenix would be frightened by his coarse babbling, considering its own soft language, but he summoned up a crystal and blew it gently from his fingertips, looking to see if the phoenix would approach a foreign magic.

At first the phoenix flew up in alarm with a beating of wings, and hovered in the air for a moment, its long tail feathers cascading over the branch it had been sitting on. The crystal had startled it.

But phoenix were abysmally curious creatures.

The phoenix did approach. Still hanging weightless in the air, it moved around and then dived a little to poke its beak at the crystal. Then it flew a little way away for all the world like a game of hide and seek.

Jareth folded his arms and watched, enchanted. He relaxed, his shoulders loosening in the quiet.

Eventually the bird stopped playing and settled back on its branch.

All Jareth had to do, really, was trap it. Kill it. Take it back to the Castle and have the damned thing stuffed for his mantelpiece. Even if he didn't have a mantelpiece. At least, not in any room he used regularly.

"Like the scarf from Niko," he said out loud.

The phoenix cocked its head.

He raised his hand to his waist to touch the scarf in question. "Were would I use it?" he said severely, "All the payments in kind. Coin I can spend. Gold I can melt. Stone I can sell. But scarves and cloth and paintings are worthless."

Not so worthless. Paintings could be hung and books could be collected.

The phoenix hopped on its branch and pecked at the tree.

Jareth looked up, spying the dark blue sky through the thick green. A breeze picked up and he thought of his bed, warm and restful. He would need his sleep, if only to see to this humdrum affair between Sarah and Oric.

"If Oric wants the girl," he told the phoenix, "She had better be prepared to pay. Sarah is an expensive commodity."

She was. As both Peshawa and royalty she was exceptionally expensive. Untrained, perhaps, but that could work in her favour when viewed from one angle. Her reactions would be pure and overwhelming. Jareth began to smile. He wondered if Oric was quite aware of how feral an iigon could be. Soft, yes. Submissive, certainly. But timid? Not quite. As the opi had told him, the submissives had all the power. How would Oric cope with that?

He went back to his room and sat down on the edge of his bed, his humour shifting back to moody contemplation. He stared at the door with hooded eyes, frustration stirring in his blood again.

Robert was so close! So temptingly close and his nature only needed to be invoked for the relationship to proceed more smoothly. But Jareth knew he wouldn't do it. It wouldn't satisfy him. It never could. Robert would have to surrender, not be given. Jareth couldn't truly bring himself to take, even if he considered it his right.

He stood up and walked to the door, placing his hand on the cool metal handle. He counted three seconds and then swiftly went in.

Robert was asleep.

But Jareth reflected on the brown curls on white and yellow, the strong hands useless on the sheets. He even reflected on the long lashes lowered down to sleep flushed cheeks.

Robert made an enticing picture.

Dual-coloured eyes kindled for an instant before the fire died again. Jareth rubbed his eyes and sat down on the bed. He reached out and touched the firm line of jaw, his hand falling away to rest on top on the barely moving ribcage. Counted ten breathes and then shook.

"Wake up," he said, flicking a taste of magic out to hasten the process, "Robert. Wake up."

"What?" Robert sat up abruptly, startled. "What's wrong?"

"I wanted to speak with you."

Hazy green eyes blinked. "Speak? Now?"

Jareth arched an eyebrow. "Is there a problem here?"

Robert shook his head to wake himself up but sat up straighter. "No. No problem." He looked around, fearing it was something to do with Sarah. He worried for her and there were scenarios in his head, ways in which she could be hurt. But it wasn't his place to say anything.

Jareth thumped him lightly on the thigh to draw his attention and got to his feet. "There are rules," he said coolly, "We will both follow them."

Robert nodded. Rules were understandable. Rules were a relief. Rules gave him something to work with.

"Rule one, I own you."

Robert winced. But he quietened down when he saw the look on Jareth's face. The Goblin King was in no mood for resistance.

"Rule two, I want no facades. No half-truths. Just honesty. Is that understood?" Jareth stressed, "Good. That is rule two. Rule three…" He paused.

Robert held his breath.

"Rule three, there will be no punishments, physical or otherwise. If there is an argument, so be it. But no punishments. Yes?"

"Yes," Robert answered softly.

Jareth folded his arms. "Then we should talk," he sighed, "Will you stay with me?"

Robert absently ruffled the curls on his head. "I will."

"Why? Because you have nowhere else to go?" Jareth challenged.

Robert didn't know quite how to answer that. So very many times Jareth had asked for honesty, without wanting to hear the honest answers. Robert had learned to give Jareth what he wanted. If Jareth was to be believed, the situation was the same in reverse. "Yes."

Something close to a smile curved the ends of that mouth. Interestingly enough, Jareth said "Thank you" as though the answer gave him some pleasure.

"Are you uncomfortable with me?"

"Yes," Robert said.

Jareth simply looked back expectantly.

Robert remembered that it was meant to be a conversation. "It's tiring. You want one thing but ask for another. I can't do that."

"And?"

"And… you want things I don't want to give."

"I see." Jareth paced along the foot of the bed, hands clasped lightly behind his back, eyes turned down to the floor. Stopping, he looked up and shrugged. "I'm trying to understand. I can't say I see it."

Robert crossed his legs and tried to think of how to explain it. "When you first got me," he ventured, "You let me have my own mount, even though… well, that could be explained logically, I suppose. Look, you didn't treat me like a slave. You treated me like I had my own mind. You told me to have my own mind. You let me read what I wanted, do what I wanted. I could speak to any of the goblins I chose. I could go anywhere in the Castle. I could even approach you at any time I wanted to talk. If you wanted me to do something, you asked! And then you stopped asking."

"I see," Jareth repeated. He frowned slightly, as though the concept gave him trouble.

Robert hurried on, convinced that this was the only time he could explain it. "You started demanding things. And you got jealous and possessive and suddenly I couldn't go where I wanted and do what I wanted. And then you got angry when I didn't agree with you and then you were happier when I didn't have any opinion at all. You remember what happened when you thought I was responsible for losing your contact."

"You told Saxony of my affairs," Jareth snapped, "Confidential information, Robert. And I lost vital ground that time."

Robert took a deep breath and then scratched the back of his hand, looking up timidly. "You had me whipped for it. For a mistake. Do you know how much it hurts?"

"I was told you could handle it."

"It still hurt, Jareth. Especially since I thought it was unfair."

The Goblin King uncharacteristically bit his lip. "It was. And I apologized for it."

Robert snorted. "Yeah. You said sorry and expected everything to be the same as usual. I couldn't fucking sleep on my back for two weeks and you think a few words of apology can cut it?"

"You're a Peshawa," Jareth retorted, "I had no reason to believe you expected anything else."

"I'm a person, too, you know. And you broke my training. You told me to forget all about it and then expected me to behave like it still meant something? That's not fair either. You know, you always do that. You take me any way that it's convenient for you."

"I take you the way you present yourself. Don't put the blame on me."

"I wasn't."

"Yes, you were. You always have and I suspect you always will."

"That's not fair."

"No. But it's true."

Robert opened his mouth to protest and then mutinously shut it. There was no point arguing. Jareth could always twist words around to implicate him.

"Well?"

Robert looked down at his nails. "I was asleep," he said clearly, "And you woke me up because you wanted to talk. It wasn't convenient for me, Jareth, but you didn't think of it."

Jareth leaned back against the wardrobe. "I wanted to speak with you tonight because I propose to find you someone else." He said it matter-of-factly. "Since you aren't comfortable with me. You have other options, truina. I can arrange for something."

"What?"

"Don't look so surprised, love. Sarah will still have her birthright and your relationship with her will continue. I'll make sure that is understood."

"You can't send me away!"

Jareth held up one finger and Robert remembered rule one. He belonged to Jareth. He had agreed to that.

"I own you," Jareth reminded him, "Your disposal is entirely my prerogative."

"You wouldn't sell me," Robert whispered, scared now.

Jareth sighed and went to him, sitting on the edge of the bed. Close enough to touch if he wanted, though he had silently decided that there would be no physical contact. Not if he could help it. Because he still wanted the other man terribly. Whether it was to satisfy himself or to be with him, he wanted him.

"Truina," he murmured, placing a careful hand on Robert's knee, "Truina, I won't sell you. If I take anything, it will be only for appearances, to ensure that no one will say you were never valuable to me. I never made money from you and I never will. You don't deserve that."

There was little that either of them could say to that. There was no reply and no dissent. What would be there to say beyond the complete statement?

Robert accepted it, feeling more than foolish that this was the situation they were in. They were men. They thought and felt and acted as men thought and felt and acted. Discussions of this nature did not come easily to them. And Jareth's simple convictions were less than palatable, even when they were oddly reassuring.

"Is there someone who comes to mind?" Jareth asked.

"No."

"Not Vernon, then," came the small joke.

"Good God, no!"

"I thought not." Jareth waited for some reply- any reply- and judged that none were forthcoming. He racked his brains to think of how best to plan, his busy mind already unravelling threads and impressions. "Sarah will stay with Oric," he said rapidly, "Perhaps you can stay with her until such time as we can reach a decision."

"In Oric's palace?" Robert wrinkled his nose. "Thank you, no. Not without an armed guard at least. There are parasites in here that walk on two legs."

"I thought you would like the culture."

"If I wanted culture, I'd stay with you," Robert said frankly, "Your library is not extensive but it doesn't concern itself with rubbish, the same for your art and your grounds. The allorns are highly overrated."

"I don't agree but I'm obliged to you," Jareth smirked, some strange feeling of triumph bubbling up into his throat at the calm opinion given so readily. At the compliment too, though it wasn't intended to be one.

Robert grinned back, unexpectedly. "I wasn't always unhappy with you, Jareth."

"Hmmm… then why are we discussing this?" came the acid query.

Robert sighed. "It's not what you can give me that is a problem. Just you."

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"I asked for honesty," Jareth dismissed, "I suppose I should learn how to take it. Was that what you were trying to explain?"

"Something like that, I guess," Robert chuckled. He sank back against the pillows, daring to let down his boundaries since Jareth was reverting- hinting- back to his old ways. His old charm. "You weren't dishonest. You just didn't like to be contradicted."

"Many absolute rulers don't," Jareth remarked.

"Yes. But I wasn't your subject, I was your lover."

"I owned my subjects. I owned you. You became a responsibility too, you know. Your enthusiasm for trouble made the situation worse."

"What trouble? What do you mean?" Robert demanded.

But Jareth only shook his head with a small smile. Not a mocking curl of lip but an actual smile that reached his cold eyes and made them warm. He dropped his eyes to the hand he had placed on his former lover's knee, pleasantly relieved to see the act hadn't been protested. He tightened his fingers experimentally, aware of dense bone and thin cloth.

He looked up and Robert's green eyes were staring back warily at him. He had a dozen tricks and jokes in his head. A thousand ways to relieve the tension, or hide behind a façade of light words. He locked them away in his head and leaned forward.

Robert didn't move.

He leaned in close enough to taste, enough that he could feel the presence of the other man against his skin. Could hear him breathe through slightly parted lips.

"I want to kiss you," he said.

It wasn't a question, just a statement. But Robert wasn't stupid either and asking Jareth to swallow his pride to ask such a painful question would be the death of both of them. So he nodded, barely perceptive because he wasn't sure he wanted to do that either. The evening had passed, and with it the magic of the past, but the hint of old longing still reached longing fingers into his gut and twisted.

Jareth was thankful for small favours.


	46. Chapter 46

Author's Note: This is, in fact, a long chapter. A late one, I know, but I've been trying to get the conversation right. It's still a bit shaky at the start, in my opinion, but it needed to just sit and be worked on for these few weeks. Sorry for the delay! I hope it's worth it, though.

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It didn't take an age. One long moment and then Jareth sat back and moved all parts of his anatomy away before they were soundly rebuked for their actions. He surveyed the results of his handiwork.

Robert swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Apart from that, he didn't react.

"Well?"

Robert eyed him warily. "May I ask questions?"

"By all means," came the invitation.

"Was this supposed to happen? As part of the conversation?" he asked bluntly.

"No." Jareth folded his hands primly in his laps, suddenly in a better mood than the one he had entered the room in. "Since we're asking permission," he chatted, "May I say that I enjoyed that?"

Robert looked more than a little embarrassed. "I could…" he began awkwardly.

"Oh no!" Jareth raised a hand in sardonic humour, settling in comfortably on the bed. "I'd rather you didn't."

"Of course."

The Goblin King crossed his legs and rested both elbows on his knees, tipping his head in amusement. "You were very quick with that answer."

"I didn't mean to imply…"

"That I was interested in more?" The head tipped right way up again and a brow rose. "With you, more particularly?"

"I didn't mean to presume anything," Robert said testily. He was two heartbeats away from snapping. His greatest desire at the moment was to land one good blow on that smirking face before Jareth enacted the expected- and probably thorough- revenge for such an insult.

"Truina, you can hit me if you want," Jareth said unexpectedly, "But I am only teasing. Why all this aggression?"

"There isn't any."

"As you like," and Jareth proceeded to fall silent. He looked at the windows in meditative fashion, counting the blue panes.

"Jareth?"

"Yes?"

"Jareth, I was asleep," Robert hinted, wanting to be left in peace.

But those strange eyes only smiled at him. Laughed at him, even, though the smirk remained to mock. Warmth and just the slightest hint of consideration.

Eyes were tricky things, Robert had always thought. He remembered his mother's mate refusing to believe that the eyes could express anything. Robert had agreed for the most part until he landed in Brenth Naigur. Submissives learned to read the smallest sign of anger or happiness in another's face. They learned how to use their own faces, their muscles. Every fiber, from the crown of their heads to the soles of their feet, was taught to express exactly what they wanted them to express.

Robert could still do it, if he wanted to.

Jareth's eyes were more or less as expressive as anyone else. Truth be told, his eyes usually expressed nothing but aloofness and calculation. Occasionally they expressed contempt. In rare times that Robert could count on an almost exact time line, Jareth indulged finer feelings.

Robert couldn't help smiling back, even if it was with great reluctance. "Was there something else?" he prompted.

Jareth's hands clasped lightly together. "Do you want to leave?"

"Is that my choice?"

"Entirely yours," Jareth agreed, "But I will be honest, truina. If you stay, I want you to do it willingly. You will stay in my Castle and I will enforce certain rules. I don't want a wax statue that sits when I say 'sit' and stands when I say 'stand'. I want a person, with a mind, who understands that if he will only trust me, I will ensure his happiness. Is that what you want?"

The offer was certainly tempting. Robert didn't look away from either the words or the mouth that spoke it. Peshawa never lowered their eyes unless they were asked. It showed strength of conviction and that at least he meant to retain. "Put like that, yes," he admitted, "But I have heard this before, Jareth."

"I have said it before, yes. But you couldn't trust me before."

"I had no reason to."

Jareth didn't say it. He controlled his tongue and shrugged, not willing to return to their usual conversation of who had given what for the other. They had both made compromises that the other took for granted. It hadn't gotten them very far.

"What would it take for you to trust me?"

Robert took a deep breath. "I don't know."

"You said I needed to ask before I ordered you," Jareth pointed out.

Robert threw up his hands in defeat. "If you still think you have to order me around, then you don't understand a word I'm telling you. We should quit right now. This won't work."

"It worked before," Jareth chuckled, "What was different then?"

"I told you!"

"You said I didn't order you. I am only attractive when I'm kind?" Jareth shook his head, as though the concept gave him trouble. "Hewt seemed to have the opposite effect."

Robert stiffened and stared wildly at the window. "Let's not talk about that," he pleaded, "Really, I said I was sorry!"

"I don't see why we shouldn't talk about it? You insist on using the past to illustrate your point. Why should my reasons not warrant the same evidence?"

"It was only once," Robert pleaded again.

Only the fact that Robert was pleading made Jareth soften. He leaned forward, compassionate but not giving an inch. "Hewt did happen. You made a mistake. But you have to understand that I can't let that happen again."

"It wasn't like that."

"You went with him, didn't you?"

Robert bit his tongue unhappily.

Jareth didn't push further. It was one of those breaking points that had never been resolved. Whether or not Robert had had anything to do with that business with the Dross magistrate, the Goblin King was well aware that he would get no definite yay or nay answer from his Peshawa.

"That doesn't matter," he sighed, "It's neither here nor there. What else was I to do but make sure it never happened again?"

"You were just."

"No, but I was angry. And I did try to be reasonable." Jareth had tried. Looking back, perhaps he hadn't tried hard enough to be coldly objective, but then how could he be expected to be?

"I still am sorry for that. I didn't realize you'd be so upset."

"I find that hard to believe," Jareth said dryly.

Robert picked at the hem of his shirt, self-conscious and wishing he could change the topic. "No, I really am. I didn't realize what he was talking about. If I had known, I wouldn't have had anything to do with him but then…"

"I wasn't there," Jareth said, "That was the only reason you obeyed. If that was what happened every time I let you out of my sight, I was hardly going to repeat the same mistake. People who cannot take the hints with which Fate hits them over the head are stupid. I am not a stupid man."

"No, I never said you were." Robert looked at him and abandoned the hem of his shirt. Adopting a far more resolute expression, he stuck a curl behind his ear and said, "You liked proving your power. That's what I didn't like about it."

"Excuse me?"

"Power. You flaunted it."

"That bothered you?" Jareth demanded, frowning at the unexpected thought, "How strange. Why?"

Robert shrugged.

Jareth waited for an answer and then noticed the set of that lower jaw, the way it kept tightened and relaxing, only to tighten reflexively again. Robert was in the unhappy position of trying to maneuver his way around his own needs- he needed to keep Jareth happy; he didn't want to compromise himself. So he kept silent.

"If you were truthful with me," the Goblin King remarked, "We wouldn't be in this mess."

Something flashed in those green eyes. "It's the same in reverse, you know."

Jareth looked surprised. "Pardon?"

"You're not truthful with me."

"When have I ever lied?"

"Oh, it's not the lies, so much. And you've given me those, too, so don't look shocked. It's the dishonesty that I despise. Remember Nila?"

"Lovely woman. What does she have to do with it?" Jareth demanded, too confused by this sudden attack to feel much anger.

Robert shifted position. "You led me to believe you took her in my place. That she was carrying your child."

"I said nothing of the sort."

"You implied it. Don't play coy, Jareth."

He had. Deriving some strange satisfaction from getting a little revenge. Jareth was not possessed of too many morals. He had found them stifling in Dross, and a handicap amongst the goblins. The goblins that had existed in the Labyrinth since time immemorial were not particularly close to civilized sentiments. The converted children were different, naturally, but even then. Morals were no use to him. And he had been dishonest in his own way.

"Did you think I didn't know why you sent me back to Karen late?" Robert continued, a slight misstep in his breath lending urgency to his words, "You wanted me to make trouble with her. You knew there was already trouble. You estimated she would throw me out."

"That is unfair," Jareth said bluntly.

"Well, you wanted to make trouble," Robert settled.

Jareth shook his head. "Very well, then. At the risk of what I owe to my position, not to mention my self-esteem, I hereby humble myself before you with the admission that I wanted you back. I maneuvered to have that want come true. I manipulated you and our daughter in order to get my family back to its rightful position in my life. Because I am that twisted and vengeful a person; that I would place my own pleasure first and discount anyone else. Should I write that in longhand and sign it? Perhaps officiate it for use in future discussions on our relationship? I don't know, Robert, how useful would sarcasm be to you in the long run?"

The Peshawa looked steadily back into the perfectly calm mismatched eyes, gaze moving from that strangely dilated pupil to the other one ringed by attractive blue. Jareth hadn't yet removed his make-up and the white and dark highlights over his lids were playing tricks in the yellow light.

"I'm being truthful," Robert said quietly.

"So am I." Jareth swallowed to ease the sudden rasp at the back of his throat. "But how much of the truth are you willing to listen to? You've always wanted the pretty lies."

"I've wanted something I'd like to have," Robert sighed, "I'm sorry if you think that was a lie."

"Not a lie, love. Just impossible. You didn't lie to me, you lied to yourself. I really did't care at first when you lied to yourself. I found it charming. I care that your lies put me firmly in the role of villain when I am no such thing."

"No. No, you aren't a villain. You're just someone who has whipped me, beat me, hurt me, insulted me, humiliated me, enslaved me and otherwise made me miserable enough to want to leave my only home for a world I had never seen before, taking my daughter with me."

"I raped you too."

"No, that was one I don't put on you. I can deal with that."

"I refuse to," Jareth admitted frankly, "I have little or no love for rapists and to find I am one is not pretty."

"You must have known," Robert protested, "It was pretty obvious. One minute we were arguing and I said I hated you and the next minute you thought we'd have sex?"

Jareth looked bitter. "I suppose I lied to myself."

"You don't do that. You're very honest with yourself. It's everyone else you lie to."

"Not in this case."

Robert nodded awkwardly and tried to think of something to say. Something comforting? He did feel bad. If Jareth had deliberately been so invested… "I wasn't always not attracted. If you could have just waited, or talked first, I'd probably have worked myself up to it."

"Thank you. But my ego wouldn't have stood it."

Robert laughed at the lighter tone, accepting the fact and the self-mockery it was couched in. He couldn't even imagine Jareth waiting for him to prepare himself. It didn't seem possible. The one way it was in Jareth's nature to act, was by force if charm didn't work. He had taken the Goblin Kingdom that way. Finding the process too slow with the Labyrinth, he had resorted to a few strategic manipulations amongst the goblins and saved himself years.

"Besides, how would I have possibly made you want it if you couldn't bring yourself to respond on your own?" Jareth said.

Robert thought about that. "You could have seduced me," he noted, "Or we could have spoken, like this but with fewer arguments, and you could have put me in a good mood. Or you could have made my body respond where my mind couldn't. There are ways."

"I didn't go to Brenth Naigur, Robert."

"If you had, you would have never tolerated a disgraced peshawa in your household. I was always grateful for that."

"You are trying to make me feel better?"

"I'm trying to be honest."

Jareth smirked and moved closer. "Honesty is a dangerous thing," he mused, "If I were to be honest, I've been seducing you all day."

"What?"

"Oh, you laugh at me, do you? You did lure me by the end of the evening."

Robert blinked. He had to admit that he had. Jareth had been charming. Warm and… well, no, not gentle. In fact, he'd been anything but. But he had been welcoming and supportive. Quite like old times.

There had been a need. A small one, which could have grown bigger. Like before. In the old days when Jareth would switch on the light and sit with him like this, moving easily from humour to seriousness to academia back to humour.

"It was quite like old times, hmmm?" Jareth smiled, "Even this tragic little lapse of good sense could almost be a memory."

"There were less words," Robert blurted. Was that a tiny spark in his fingertips? He looked reflexively to his hands but they seemed no different.

"I know. We would start by talking. Mostly, I would want to kiss you. You always knew just when I was ready to pounce. You always got there first."

Robert grinned mischievously. "You weren't hard to read, you know. We can smell pheromones and yours would be pitched so impossibly high."

"Tease."

"You liked it." The Peshawa sobered down somewhat. "That was what you wanted."

Jareth nodded and absently rolled up his sleeves, thinking of the picnic at Variety Gate. Whether it was over and whether Sarah was back in his room. Would Oric have the bad manners to bed him without formal permission? Sarah wouldn't struggle much. It might be a good thing; Sarah might realize how little control he really had. It might frighten him enough to come back for protection.

Jareth didn't really want to see his daughter so frightened by his own nature, but he would prefer to have his first affair conducted by someone a little more reliable. Someone who wouldn't take the kind of nonsense Robert had led him to believe he was allowed to indulge in. No matter what excuses or opinions Jareth had on slavery and peshawas, the fact was that they needed a controlled owner. If Robert couldn't accept that, Jareth hoped that Sarah could.

"We've had a strange life of it," Robert said suddenly.

"Yes, well, it will end soon. I'll start making enquiries for a new place for you." Jareth stretched and lifted his hands behind his head, arching his back. "With family?"

"Without family," Robert said instantly, "Families always interfere."

"Yes. Hewt comes to mind."

"He wasn't your family."

"No, but he was a school friend of my half-brother's. Family connections, so to speak. I suspect the viper was under orders."

Robert grimaced. "He far surpassed them," he commented.

Jareth shot him a disturbed look, but didn't choose to question further. "Very well. No family. Separate estates?"

Robert hesitated. "Living in the same quarters would mean intimacy," he said slowly, "I'd like my own space."

Jareth smiled slightly. "I assume no sex, then."

"I would have to meet the person first."

"Alright. The spectrum is narrow, but I'll see what I can do." He looked at the open door connecting their rooms and then looked back at his former lover. "You do realize that you have just asked for the same situation as you have with me."

Robert did. He shrugged self-consciously and offered a sheepish half-smile. "I was wondering if you'd notice that."

"You could stay with me," Jareth said seriously, "We can come to some agreement."

"Could we? I find it hard to believe."

Jareth chuckled and thumped the bed. "Another person it is, then. That's settled. How soon would you like it?"

"Whenever you find someone. I'm in no hurry. Sarah still needs to be taken care of."

"Sarah will be fine."

"I know she will. But whenever it happens."

Jareth eyed him knowingly.

Robert didn't look away. But he did flush slightly. Those sparks in his fingertips were moving up his arms to his shoulders, lodging just under his collarbones and seeping down to raise goose bumps on his chest under his shirt. He thanked Lathos that Jareth couldn't see them.

"You must be tired," was all that Jareth said, getting up, "Good night."

It was while he turned to move towards the door that he saw the first flash of it. Those green eyes dropping slightly as though in relief. The bright glow. The sudden veneer that disappeared as fast as it appeared. More than that, the feel of the sudden release of magic into the warm air with its stifled, musty undertones. The warmth deepening along the line of nose and jaw and neck.

Jareth stopped short and stalked closer, grasping a thick nest of curls to pull that face up to his gaze. "You did it again," he said simply.

"Let go." That voice was quietly desperate.

He did let go, but he sat down and put out a hand to touch Robert's knee again. Those green eyes flamed and then Robert took a ragged breath to calm himself down.

Jareth's hand dropped. "I'll go. If there's something I can do…"

"I could…" Robert said desperately, "If you still…"

Neither of them was completing sentences but it seemed perfectly logical. Sentences didn't need to be completed. It was more important at the time to use mouths and tongues for other things. For pleasurable things.

Open-mouth kisses traded in battles for what each wanted, for control and dominance.

Robert did it because he knew Jareth and he knew Jareth liked the idea of a fight. Of seduction. Of winning a prize that might just be beyond the reach of anyone else. Jareth liked the exotic and the rare. So Robert battled and leaned back and fought to keep control even when his resolve was slipping.

"Give in," Jareth whispered.

He stopped fighting. Robert shook his head and began to slowly throw off his clothes. "I hate it when you expect things."

"Mmm?"

"You have to ask," Robert sighed, fingers fumbling with the buttons on Jareth's trousers.

"I'm asking now."

"Are you?" Robert smiled, hands trailing up to trace the shape of muscle and flesh. Bone so easily felt under it all and the barest hint of blood and nerves. Heat flooding out, blooming around his fingertips and the beat of his own heart in the knuckles of his hands.

Jareth took him at his word, hands reaching to tangle again in his curls, but gently. Offering his neck as the opi had shown him. "May I?" he muttered.

He arched his back and Robert moved a hand from his back to his side, sliding up and down.

"Can I?" Those mismatched eyes were dilated already. Heavy-lidded and smoky.

"Yes. And Yes."

"Robert?"

"Yes?"

Jareth didn't say it. He didn't ask it. Robert didn't expect him to. Besides, Robert knew what was wanted in any case and he gave it willingly.

"Come, then."

Jareth nodded, panting lightly, unable to take his eyes off Robert's mouth. He could almost taste the slight hint of sleep, just from having kissed the other man. He lunged forward and Robert was beneath him, whispering something Jareth couldn't hear because he was kissing him frantically and rocking.

"Slow down," Robert urged, "Careful."

But Jareth wasn't listening. He knelt over Robert and moved in earnest, sliding against him, pressing down almost cruelly. Braced on his arms as he leaned forward, eyes closed but so close, so open.

Robert let him, helped him. Touched him and moved him to bring the pleasure to something sharper and infinitely better.

Jareth shuddered and sped up when climax hit, head dropping lower.

Robert held him still as far as he was able. He bit his tongue to keep himself from sailing over that edge. It had certainly been a while since he'd had to practice this kind of restraint!

He knew Jareth. This wasn't enough for him.

Jareth rolled easily and Robert settled carefully between his legs. Removed the rest of their clothing as quickly and efficiently as he could while his lover refocused. Then he settled back.

He used some of those spilt fluids just for the symbolism of it, but added a generous amount of something in a bottle that Jareth hurriedly handed over to him. He didn't question what it was. He just used it.

"Robert?"

"It'll be quick."

Jareth subsided and didn't seem to question anymore. He only watched, his gaze turned inward and his ribcage rising and falling with each prolonged breath.

"Lie down, loquewren."

"I want to see."

Robert nodded mutely and came back up, curling his arm under the other's head to bring their faces closer.

Jareth didn't flinch away fro it. He allowed his leg to be hooked up over Robert's shoulder- permission asked for and granted.

So close and Robert could see hardly any colour left apart from those dilated pupils. He lowered his brow to rest against Jareth's, vaguely aware that both of their faces were damp, that the skin sucked at each other as much as their mouths and hands did.

The first gasp of shock was shared between both. Jareth nosed inquisitively at the soft line of Robert's neck, flicking his tongue out momentarily.

Robert moved forward- to push that leg further back, to get his fingers further in, to feel that tongue lick further down. All of that and more. There was very little in Jareth that was soft and welcoming. But this was how it had been at the start. Jareth wasn't giving up control; he just let Robert take his own time, his own pace. Jareth could have ridden him with no problems but he didn't. Whichever of them got to care for the other had never taken that for granted. Until the game had changed.

Robert didn't know if the game was changing back or even changing at all. But he wasn't questioning this. This was memory and need. The need itself was sudden and surprising, but it was too strong and Robert didn't want to fight it. Didn't see why he should. Considering the circumstances.

"No more," Jareth rasped.

"So soon?"

"It's been a while." The laugh ended on a strangled moan. "So long. No one since… Ow! No, it's alright. No one since you."

Robert paused, calculating that. More than twenty five years? He grinned suddenly. "I'll be extra carefully," he promised wickedly.

Jareth hissed indignantly but kept his jaw locked, keeping as still as he could. Robert's hand on him was soothing, slick with oil and carefully fondling him to quicken the pace. Jareth trusted Robert to know what he was doing.

"Speak. Let it out."

"It fucking itches."

"No pain?"

Jareth shook his head impatiently.

Robert laughed and shifted both hand and hips.

Jareth yelped and almost came off the bed. Eyes wide, he blinked up in complete incomprehension, his thoughts melting away to pure sensation. He moaned and Robert placed a hand on his chest. Felt his heartbeat. Tried to match his thrusts to that frantic rhythm. Jareth knew what he was doing because that was how he had always tried to do it.

Far from simply taking it, Jareth was pushing back, moans turning to growls turning to unspoken words that came out as noises that no one else could decipher. He threw an arm around Robert's neck, tangling them both, straining to touch more and be touched back.

Robert could feel the muscle tighten reflexively, drawing him in and gripping. He turned his head to kiss the tensed forearm. And then buried himself deeper and deeper and Helos, he couldn't go further. God, he couldn't. He just couldn't. Just a little more.

Jareth squirmed and grimaced but a few quick strokes and squeezes and he fell gratifying fast.

Robert was glad for that. A little proud of it, too.

By the time that Jareth was asleep, Robert needed to take a bath, if only to take the time to think clearly about this new development.


	47. Chapter 47

Author's Note: Almost instantaneous continuation but I know you'll forgive me putting it up so late. I was broadening the scale to show more than just a pair of individuals. I think it's important to place people within their relative framework. That kind of interaction becomes so much more concrete.

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Taking a bath was no mean feat in the Allorn Queen's palace. An incredibly complicated system of pulleys, levers, catchments and pumps worked to provide running water. The servants were there in plenty, but it all came down to a question of privacy.

Allorns were prudes, that way; they said it added spice to life.

Robert felt life was spicy enough without games of hide-and-go-seek. He simply felt safer alone in another room.

It was strange, he mused, that now that the hurdle was passed, he was disinclined to feel it changed things one way or the other. Jareth was unpredictable and Robert withheld judgment on what mood he was likely to wake up in. Conversation or not, Jareth might continue to behave exactly as before. In certain situations, he might well be more restrictive. It all depended.

On whether. On weather. On hormones.

Robert sighed as he padded back into his bedchamber after his prolonged soak. He didn't look, just pulled down the covers and slipped between the sheets. He turned his back to the middle of the bed, facing the door, folding his arms beneath his head.

Times were better when he could lie. At least, in Brenth Naigur, he had always slept alone. He gave what service was asked and then parted company with the other individual. In structured relationships, parting company was much more difficult. Besides, the Goblin King did not relinquish his property easily.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, Robert woke up when a heavy arm flung itself over his side. He dozed off only to waken when the arm tightened and a rough voice in his ear whispered, "You smell of blueroot."

It was a surreal night.

Robert half-turned his head and a warm kiss landed just below his ear. He traced the line of the arm thrown around him and a slight laugh rumbled out against his back.

"I like this," Jareth whispered.

"Hm," Robert agreed vaguely.

"Turn around."

An order, again. But Robert saw no harm in obeying. He turned over and Jareth ran a possessive hand down his side. Robert even smiled at this. It was innocent enough, in its own strange way.

"Good morning," he said hesitantly, not sure if he was allowed to talk.

But Jareth only smiled, all sharp teeth and lazy good humour, and said, "It's still night," with a nod to the windows.

True enough, the windows were dark. But Robert could see the clock from where he lay and the time was at the hour between sleep and dawn. The waiting hour, his people called it, too late to go back to bed and too early to welcome the day. It would be cold, now, in the desert, and the fur throws would be pulled up tight over prone bodies. The watchman at the gates would be asleep in his tower, the bell rope tied slack to the back of his chair. Even the wind rarely blew at such an hour.

Robert remembered his mother's mate saying once that it was the only hour when the dust was still, resting from its relentless travel across the lands.

"Thinking of fairy tales?" Jareth broke in, cupping his face.

"Thinking of my clan," Robert said honestly, "It's just that time."

"For what?"

"Four in the morning," Robert replied, glancing back to the clock.

Jareth peered over his shoulder to look for himself, groaning at the confirmation of what he feared. He yawned, raising a hand to rub the tiredness from his face.

Robert felt the unaccountable urge to stick his head beneath the pillows and play at being the robber bird.

Jareth summoned a crystal and looked into it. "Sarah's asleep in her own bed," he commented, banishing it again, "It seems she has some strength of will."

"No. Oric is moving slowly." Robert caught that curious look. "Sarah might have strong likes and dislikes, but she's unable to really control them. If she's alone in her bed, then Oric hasn't given her a choice to do otherwise."

"It need not be so," Jareth said slowly.

"Nevertheless," Robert insisted, "It's the only logical argument."

"We'll see."

Robert nodded and lifted his hand. Palm pressed flat against a flat chest. Experimentally trying to find the perfect spot to feel the heartbeats. Counting them silently against his palm. Finding them fast and eager.

Typical of Jareth. Impatient and quick. Even his body wouldn't wait for the world to catch up with him.

"Was it cold?" he asked, "Outside, I mean. You didn't catch a cold, did you?"

"No, I hardly think I did. I almost caught a phoenix, however," Jareth offered, waiting to see the reaction.

Robert didn't even look up. He didn't seem surprised. He just nodded absently and moved his hand closer to the centre of the white chest. Splayed the fingers. "It seems a lot of hunting is going on tonight."

"Pardon?"

"The phoenix and Sarah," Robert said, shrugging his shoulders, "It seems an awful lot like hunting at both ends."

Jareth was very conscious of the knot that formed tight in his throat. It was almost the best thing he had heard in years coming out of that pretty mouth. Yet so nonchalantly stated, so carefree.

A conversation, if he recognized it.

Green eyes flicked up, clouding for a moment with worry. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," Jareth said, exhaling a breath he hadn't known he was holding, "The analogy was strange, however. The phoenix is to be stuffed and eaten. Sarah is a little less gastronomical."

"Eating can be used for many actions."

Jareth bit his tongue but couldn't help the smile. Not with those green eyes slanting humour at him. Long lashes fluttered briefly, shielding a mischievous look that even rigorous training couldn't beat out of him.

Jareth knew that look. It meant the difference between ten pieces of currency and a hundred. A man or woman could take a warm body with a great deal of gratitude. But add a sense of humour to that dexterous tongue and no one could resist.

He leaned forward and kissed the man in his bed, delighted with this state of affairs.

The moment he could, Robert freed his mouth enough to look thoughtful again. "Not to mention stuffing," he murmured.

Jareth barked a laugh. "Incorrigible," he teased, "And dirty-minded."

Robert grinned hesitantly and lifted himself up on an elbow. "Humans have a strange sense of humour," he acknowledged, "And in my line, I've had the chance to hear a lot of races make dirty jokes."

"Foreplay?"

"To some minds, yes."

"Tragic," Jareth commented.

Robert looked at him, tracing the smile still tugging at the corners of that thin mouth. "I don't know," he said, "It seems to work on others."

Jareth feigned outrage and sat up. One flip and he was straddling the other man, hands on his shoulders, pressing him down. "You dare insult the Goblin King?"

Robert wriggled a little, but in order to arch slightly, to highlight the obvious- very obvious- effect. Jareth's eyes were over bright in his long face, his fingers perhaps digging harder than necessary into flesh.

"Point taken." Jareth let go and sat back. He was completely unashamed by his nudity, taking it in stride the way that he did with all other business.

Robert didn't quite like to think of this interaction as business, but then what else had he been able to call it for so long? He was given food, clothing, shelter and protection. In return he performed certain rituals, certain duties. At the moment, Jareth was just sitting on him. In a few more minutes, who could say?

"You are very quiet tonight. Tell me what you're thinking."

"I don't think I've ever seen you rush to dress again," Robert said obediently.

"Is that all?" Jareth shook his blond head and placed his hands back on Robert's shoulders, leaning down to talk to him. But gently this time, still amused but no longer rough. "I've had nothing but compliments so far."

"I wasn't complaining," Robert explained. It wasn't a compliment, though.

"Hmmm. So I see. Tell me, truina, why did you give in tonight? For old time's sake? Attraction?"

"Yes."

"Which one."

"Both."

"So you are attracted to me, yes?"

Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. Mostly when the light hit those cheekbones from one particular angle. "Yes."

Jareth's smile faded and he leaned closer, almost close enough to kiss. "Then why do you fight this? We can come to some arrangement. I offer to work out some plan. A little compromise and all our troubles are at an end."

"Loquewren, what do you want me for?"

"Oddly enough, I like you."

"You like many people. Why keep me?"

"You don't interfere with me," Jareth said frankly, "I have political considerations, truina. Another marriage and I will have to pick one of noble birth. Which means she will have some notion of how my Castle should be kept, how my affairs should be conducted, what my manners should be."

Robert stifled an unexpected grin. "Not all women are like that," he suggested.

"The only ones I would consider are all like that," Jareth sighed heavily, "I suppose I could choose a gherengh. Or a Nelderbrae. I'm likely to have to reproduce with both of them, however, and the thought disgusts me."

"Nelderbrae are considered very striking."

"Yes, and poisonous."

Robert looked up knowingly. "You've handled the aftermath of a few assassinations, haven't you?"

"I couldn't say. I handled dry accounts," Jareth said with studied calm, "Very boring, really. I can hardly remember what was required of me."

"It paid well."

"It paid very well," the Goblin King agreed, "Until I imprisoned a Vraul trader on his way to the Nelderbrathen steadfast."

It was not a topic they discussed much, Jareth's reaction to Vraul traders. It was a hypocritical stand and therefore very delicate. He officially despised the slave trade. He refused to condone it; he refused to allow any slave traders into his kingdom, no matter the price or means they offered. Unofficially- according to most, more ritualistically inclined, states- he owned a slave. He fed it, watered it, and gave it a space in his household. He punished it when he was not satisfied with it. He used it for his own selfish ends with no real concern as to its likes or dislikes.

On the other hand, Jareth had imprisoned a Vraul trader in one of his oubliettes and confiscated the 'merchandise' on the grounds of contractual misconduct.

The Vraul insisted that he was acting on behalf of a Nelderbrae noble and therefore had every right to herd his cargo through the Goblin Kingdom. Jareth insisted that he didn't believe a word of it and would personally see to it that no slave set foot in his lands. The Nelderbrae had said very little after a hired diplomat had conveyed the King's assurances to the courts that he believed no ill of them and would be happy to tell the world that they were not funded by the proceeds of illegal traffic in human-based species.

"Only one of them was a half-breed," Robert remembered, "A little girl. Hardly more than twenty."

"Forty-eight," Jareth supplied helpfully.

"Really? She seemed younger."

"She was untrained too, I believe. Confused." Jareth shook his head. "She didn't understand enough to be terrified."

"What did you do with her?" Robert asked.

Jareth looked at him and looked at the ceiling. "I set her loose in the Labyrinth."

"What? But that's for… you turned her into a goblin?"

"It seemed best."

"But that's not a human power! The Labyrinth must have changed after that. It should have. Even half-breeds have the dormant capacity to be peshawa. It only wants another parent to draw it out. The magic creates the race, not the other way around. The legends say so and fact… well, fact only supports it. Why didn't the Labyrinth change?"

Jareth raised an eyebrow at all this speech. He hadn't heard his lover say so much even before their relationship had disintegrated. "It did change," he said kindly, "It learned to adapt to the needs of the humans who walked it. The humans merely project their own traps onto the Labyrinth. It is a much better system."

Robert stared hard at him as though trying to work something out. And then he gave a grim nod and said, "You did it on purpose."

"Not quite. The plan served the both of us."

"You sent her through the Labyrinth knowing the Labyrinth would absorb her powers. It certainly suited you."

Jareth paused and looked Robert in the eye. "You still believe the worst of me," he asked.

"I believe you're cynical and ambitious. I don't believe you're hard-hearted."

"Good. That sounds agreeable."

Robert hadn't meant it to sound like a concession. He didn't like the cynicism or the ambition. Peshawa rarely felt ambition unless it was on their mate's behalf. And Robert might not wish harm on the goblins or the Labyrinth, but he didn't like Jareth's disinclination to view the rest of the world as a means to achieving a great kingdom. The Goblin King had a way of summing up everyone he had ever met as less than adequate for anything but a ladder.

There was little hope of ever getting Jareth to think otherwise. Robert didn't try.

"She is happy now. She has a job, did you know? Painting trees." Jareth chuckled and for just an instant he thought fondly of the half-peshawa, half-pixie child he still kept an eye on. "She paints stories on them, using her fingers. Troy offered her brushes but she wouldn't take them. No one bothers her now."

"How does she paint with her fingers?"

Jareth etched a stick figure into the air with his finger to demonstrate. "Like that."

"It sounds a pleasant way to live life."

"It seems to suit her. I must introduce Sarah to her when we return. I would feel safer if Sarah spent less time with that dwarf."

"Hoggle? He's a friend, Jareth. I don't think it's deeper than that."

"It isn't. Not yet. But a betrayal is a betrayal, and if he can betray her once, he can do it again. His price is low enough."

"Then why don't you bribe him?" Robert laughed, watching the abstract puzzle flick through Jareth's mind, "Scare him enough that he knows better."

"It wouldn't work." Jareth refocused and suddenly began to smile. "Wretch," he accused, "You did it deliberately."

"Did what?"

"Distracted me. Had you wanted me to stop, you should have said it. This hint is the broadest I have yet encountered."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Jareth."

Jareth got off of him and sat down to the side. "The mood is quite ruined."

"Oh. I could…"

"Not now."

"But…"

"When and if we both need it again," Jareth said firmly. He smiled and then began to get off the bed. "I must admit, this has been relaxing. Where are my clothes?"

"Where are you going?" Robert asked, puzzled and not daring to push too far for answers.

Jareth stilled his movements for a moment and then resumed them, not bothering to do more than adequately cover himself. "I had thought you and Sarah were due for morning prayers," he answered.

They were. Somewhere in the time, the hands of the clock had shifted and it was late enough into the morning hour to begin the day. Robert cast one last glance at the lightening windows before getting up to dress.


	48. Chapter 48

Author's Note: 'Quirop' is the name for the theatrical tradition. I'll give you the name for the actors and musicians in the next chapter if it comes up again.

Author's Note 2: Please keep in mind that Robert still stands to Jareth's right hand, even when the custom is that a Peshawa should keep to the left. The reason, if I have not given it before, is that my Jareth is left-handed. A fuller explanation will be given in another chapter.

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"What is this?" Sarah asked.

Oric took his hand and drew him to their seats at the front. "A Quirop show."

"I don't know that word. I don't speak your language, Your Majesty."

"A play, Sarah," Saxony contributed, somehow slipping guilelessly into the conversation without being invited. He took a seat beside the younger man and smiled in friendly fashion before turning his head to talk to someone else behind him.

"A play?"

"A kind of play," Oric agreed. She snapped her fingers in frustration and a guard came forward. "Summon Vernon."

"At once, Your Majesty," the guard bowed.

Sarah blinked and couldn't tell if the guard had been there before. He hadn't even seen him move! Could anything move that fast?"

"Boto-negs," Saxony said unexpectedly, "The Invisible Guards. They run this palace."

"I've never seen them… well, I guess they're invisible," Sarah laughed, relieved and excited at the prospect of invisible people. It wouldn't do for him to sit one down and question it, but it was a fun concept all the same; a million little human dreams come true.

"Oh, they can be visible or invisible as they like," Saxony said airily, waving a hand in the general direction of the back of the hall, "It's best to assume that they are there."

"So they don't even have a shadow or anything?" Sarah pried.

"There is no shadow if the thing is not visible, no. And they're very good at not being visible." Saxony clasped his hand innocently in his lap, blue eyes twinkling. "But you can often hear them slipping in or out of your room."

Sarah froze. "What?"

"Boto-negs are room servants to the, er, more influential guests. They ensure our rooms are in perfect order. You must have noticed this?"

Saxony caught the bewildered shock in those green eyes and it only made him want to add more fuel to the fire. He was in one of his silly moods at the moment; the world was to be laughed at in such a mood. Saxony, obligingly, laughed at it.

"It is sad," he murmured, "That the boto-negs are the only ones who truly know every person in the palace… intimately."

Sarah's jaw dropped and he blushed, frantically wondering how many- if any- there had been in his rooms when… or the other time… or could they go everywhere? Were they allowed to go everywhere? Including his bedroom and bathroom? Even when he was occupying either?

The thought was mortifying!

Saxony counted that as success and bent to his program, content for the moment with his rate of progress.

The Gherengh King was not a malicious person by nature, but he derived a lot of pleasure from kindly supplying information that another might not yet possess. It was really quite thrilling and Sarah was a taking little thing with a veritable mine of opportunities to enjoy himself as a gossip and a mischief-maker. Particularly now that Jareth seemed to have foolishly abandoned him to Oric's tender mercies.

Saxony furrowed his brow with innocent concentration, his beard hiding the tension in his jaw that arose from straining not to laugh out loud in exhilaration. A king had to be in control at all times. Even when he was misbehaving.

"You summoned me, Your Majesty?" Vernon knelt down and gallantly kissed the twisted silver ring on that manicured hand.

"Explain a quirop show to Sarah, Vernon," Oric ordered without preamble.

"At once, my fair queen." Vernon bowed and turned to the avid young face gazing at him in some surprise. He settled himself quite comfortably on the floor and couldn't, for the life of him, see why his present location could astonish the girl so. Well, the man, but that was a complexity he didn't intend to explore anytime soon.

"A quirop show is a type of theatre, Highness," he began, "There are two characters and three musicians. One singer who narrates and the two other… I think the word is puppeteer in your tongue."

"A puppet show?" Sarah guessed.

"Yes." Vernon nodded quickly. "But with a slight difference. Our puppets are real."

"How?"

Oric looked puzzled. "They always have been, Sarah. Have you never heard of the Quirop traditional theatre? There is a revival currently."

"You use real people as puppets?"

"Of course. Don't you?"

Vernon cut in smoothly- "Human puppets are toys, Your Majesty. The Princess has never seen a Quirop as yet. This is his first time."

Oric smiled mistily at the young man who still wore her earring, leaning closer in a cloud of perfumed silk. "I shall take my pleasure from yours, then," she teased softly.

Sarah coughed and shifted to his right. He bumped into Saxony and muttered a quick apology, glad to turn his face away.

Vernon excused himself and proceeded, with the help of an invisible boto-neg, to the side of the stage. Exiting through a narrow door reserved only for the actors and their musicians.

The players themselves were in the midst of controlled chaos, mingling Quirop props with the classical props for Evelyse's play scheduled for a later hour of the day. Pull strings were trailing the floor at every turn and twist, not yet tied properly to the cross rods.

The Quirop troupe employed child actors to play the puppets, conscious of the difficulty of adults to direct bodies that were defined and solid, not to mention the same size as theirs and therefore hard to maneuver. The child actors were, however, much more taxing off-stage, for all their advantages.

One of them- a little girl with delicate green skin- was querulously demanding something to eat while her minder attempted to paint her little face and remind her that eating before a performance always made her sick.

The musicians were in a corner, already dressed in their loose clothes, tuning their instruments and testing their voices.

Vernon clapped his hands and shouted for silence. "You begin in three minutes."

The little girl burst into a wail for nourishment that made the minder cringe.

Vernon didn't care. It wasn't his job to assist in cultural and artistic endeavors. His specialty was diplomacy in the field of politics. He was only in that room out of deference to Clairen, his mentor and friend.

Clairen hadn't been feeling too well lately, Vernon contemplated, leaving the room to find Evelyse.

The Duchess was seated comfortably with a friend, unconcerned about her apparent responsibilities now that Clairen was elsewhere.

Vernon glared at her bitterly, wishing blackly that he could see a way to make her do her duty. The burden wasn't his to bear, considering that if the Allorn Queen saw fit to blame anyone for any catastrophe, it would be the person who acted in charge. Which would be him. And he was only guessing his way at the moment. But no, Evelyse was patently uninterested in anything beyond herself. So he said nothing and got on with it.

At the back of the room, the doors opened to admit a few last viewers and then he mounted the platform and bowed reverently.

It was a short speech, and he used no flowery language due to his ill-temper. He simply welcomed the guests, ignored the strange looks from an audience who wanted to know why he was in charge of such an event, and explained a little bit about the Quirop tradition and the play that was to be performed.

He caught the curtains with one hand and drew them away.

Sarah thought the stage was simply an enormous Punch and Judy platform. It was somewhat disappointing to him, after all the promise of something different.

With round eyes, he stared at the musicians as they emerged from their dressing room.

The musicians took their places on the floor at the foot of the platform, producing tiny stools to rest their rumps upon.

"They can sit like that for hours," Saxony whispered beneath his breath.

Sarah nodded absently and another individual came out. It looked vaguely female but he couldn't be sure. And then something about the eyes gave it away. Or maybe it was that strange grace? The air of servitude? Sarah didn't know. But for the first time in his life, Sarah saw one of his own kind.

"An inverse," Saxony said.

Sarah wanted to tell him to be quiet. Not to speak so clinically, but then felt confused by even thinking such a thing. Certainly the words themselves was not abusive, nor had Saxony intended to abuse anyone. He had kept his voice down, and didn't make any kind of joke.

The 'inverse' made a reverent salutation to the Allorn Queen and her guests, and then took a place beside the musicians.

"Quite pretty," Oric said out loud.

The peshawa in front did not react but the audience tittered in well-bred fashion behind their manicured hands.

Jareth put a restraining hand on his lover's sleeve and shook his head imperceptibly.

He didn't truly think Robert would make a scene. Robert was aware of the reaction to his people. But inverseras were extremely rare and extremely holy. They were worshiped within all the peshawa clans as representatives of one of the most important Gods. To see one in such a secular setting was a kick in the shin for any nationalist peshawa. And Robert was, unfortunately, still somewhat nationalist.

Sarah didn't understand the cultural implications but he did know that he didn't like that tone of voice. He didn't like that the expected remark was to gauge the appearance of a peshawa even if it was to play another part.

But Sarah had a brain and it told him to shut up and ignore the sting.

Then the actors came out.

Sarah hadn't expected children The sting was forgotten as the two adults nimbly clambered up the frame of the oversized Punch and Judy box, cross-bars and strings held neatly in their hands. There seemed to be beams or something upon which to stand and crouch because they straightened up on the top and bowed once while the children took their places within the frame.

One staccato bark from above rendered both children limp.

They didn't fall. The strings were looped and tied and held them up. They hung there, suspended like puppets.

The music started and the little girl's hand was lifted. Her head came up, her mouth opened, and the Peshawa began to sing her part.

Sarah forgot about the rest of the world.

Robert didn't. He was out of his bed and his bedroom. Out of the haze that made everything seem so possible. He was back in the real world.

Then again. He snuck a peep at Jareth's profile, at the boredom and watchfulness that flickered alternately in those strange eyes of which he could only see the blue one. Then again, what other option did he really have.


	49. Chapter 49

Author's Note: Woah, we're almost there! Sorry I've taken so long. I've got the chapters written now, so here goes. This is the chapter before the chpater before the last one.

'Straight from the God's mouth'- A not very imaginative saying; fairly self-explanatory. Very Cherisse, however. Which is when I should explain that the Cherisse are Allorns, but outside because of their conversion to a particular religious doctrine. It usually implies talking sense, wisdom, or issuing a command. Sometimes it means all three.

'Talking the price of piss'- also self-explanatory. This is a Dross saying, though not a polite one, and it means talking rubbish. It's mostly used out of the politically correct Dross ministries.

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"Sarah was very taken with the quirop show," Vernon remarked.

Saxony nodded and concentrated on the sheet of heavy board between them. He could move the red but the forests were too close and the reds would be too obvious. Besides, what kind of tactician would he be if he lost a messenger troop in the forest?

"I found it remarkably ironic," Vernon continued, pulling a hard cushion out from under himself, "She said she couldn't understand how the actor could relinquish all control to the puppeteer and still be so animated."

Saxony paused and looked up from the game of fletcher. "She said that?" He moved his piece without looking at it.

"Oh yes." Vernon squinted. "Your move again."

"No. The grays are resting. It's your turn."

"Of course," Vernon said. It wasn't, but he conceded gracefully. Even if Saxony was making the game up as he went. Royalty was allowed to rest troops where and when they wanted, although the grays were heavily laden with large battle equipment and were currently at the foot of a hill. "Court to the lakes."

Saxony chuckled. "I suspected you might." He swung the grays to the right but marched the yellow, light troops to the grounds so recently vacated by his enemy. Prime siege position in light of the current tides.

He grinned in satisfaction as Vernon cursed beneath his breath in Satath. The younger man was impatient where strategies were concerned. That pleasant face hid a temper.

"I give," Vernon grunted. He threw the dice down to the board.

"We're only halfway through."

"There's not much point, is there? My Court is trapped."

"There are a few maneuvers you could try."

Vernon glared at him. "Since you know what they are, there is no point at all."

"There are other ways… alright, alright. Don't scowl; you're scaring the servants." Saxony played idly with the golden eye around his neck. An affectation his goblin counterpart had borrowed, this medallion. Only, Jareth wore his openly and Saxony preferred his hidden. After all, one did not flaunt a dangerous and priceless magical heirloom.

"You did very well," Saxony consoled, "Sometimes one must lose." He received a slighter lighter scowl from across the small table. "You were thinking too much of Sarah."

Vernon muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"It is a friendly game, not a tournament. You caught me off guard." There was a distinct dimple deepening in the man's cheek.

"Yes, I know. Stop sulking."

Vernon relaxed, stiff muscles protesting his prolonged stay in golden seats. He was used to travel and only the festival itself had kept him so long in one place. He stared at a carved Venii angel instead of Saxony's round face and felt better for it. At least her stone features didn't radiate smug righteousness back at him.

They were back in the Hall from that first evening, sitting at a small table set up by a boonan for their convenience. There were others, but the Hall was big and privacy expected. Other pairs or small groups were clustered in the midst of the oversized statues, far enough away that only echoes and whispers trailed uncomprehendingly over the ground.

"Oric seems very taken with the girl," Saxony said unexpectedly, "I wonder why."

Vernon offered an informal shrug. "I wonder how Evelyse's play is going."

"Lady Evelyse. Such a charming flirt."

Vernon pretended ignorance, just to see what Saxony would do. "Is she? I had no idea." He didn't feel up to exchanging information. He didn't want the underlying seriousness.

"Oh, yes. But flirts, alas, do not excite me as they used to," Saxony mourned. He played with a little ivory chip he had discovered hiding half under the board. It's carved façade was dull and matte, but the delicate whorled edges made it sensual to the touch.

"Unfortunate."

Saxony felt a twinge of annoyance. It hadn't been his idea to play a game. If left to himself, he would have been at Evelyse's play, showing his face where it was proper for him to do so, not sitting in corners to excite unease and rumour.

"I agree. I'm getting very bored with the normal arrangements," he murmured, twisting the chip between his fingers.

"But Sarah interests you," Vernon replied tartly.

Saxony flipped the chip up into the air. The slight glow around the object was the only warning before it vanished. The Gerengh King never did resort to crystals to contain his magic.

"I'm almost jealous," Vernon observed, "A little while ago, my potential to be King was more amusing to you."

"It still amuses me. Did I tell you that I let that fact slip to Leeman Brace?"

Vernon frowned, shaking his head. "No."

"I did. He said he always knew. An old informant of his uncle's."

"Whom? Oric has told no one. Not Jareth?"

"No, not Jareth. Much closer to Greville."

"In this court or outside?"

"Within. Interestingly enough, Clairen," Saxony laughed, "I would never have thought it of our untouchable Allorn, but Lee said he was young and somewhat temperamental in those days."

Vernon couldn't even begin to picture that in his head. The thought of Clairen as a person and not the living embodiment of impartial political critique was something strange. Clairen had so long been the mentor, the observer- the eye that saw and understood- that it required too much concentration to hear of him 'compromised' by a foolish decision.

On the other hand, there was Nila…

"How is Nila?" Saxony interrupted, a sly grin twitching on his round face while he tucked his medallion back into the neck of his shirt.

"I don't know."

"Did Clairen ever offer for her?"

"I don't really know." Far more wary, this time.

Those blue eyes darkened ever so slightly. Saxony never lost his temper, but he did get angry. The change in his demeanor was always noticeable, if only because it happened so rarely. "Vernon, how are we to do business if you have no information to trade."

Ah yes- compromised. Vernon had forgotten that. But this was a new situation for him. He shrugged again, apologetically. "You'll have to ask for information I have, Sax." He was aware of the tightening of Saxony's jaw, of the downward turn to that mouth. He still tried, attempting to get close enough without crossing the line.

Saxony would have none of it- "That is not how the game is played. I ask for information, and you supply it. What you know and how you find out is not my concern. You might need to look closer for some of it. Those, Vernon, are the rules."

"There are some things I am not privy to. Personal information and policies from the inner circle!"

"Then find them out. A good spy has others he can trust. A good spy is organized."

"I am not a spy," Vernon answered swiftly. He got to his feet and majestically moved to leave the room. An old trick of Clairen's, to mask unease with theatrics and dignity.

But he had forgotten that Saxony was not the sort to be fooled by surfaces. His magic was unbound, unfettered. He saw the world through the eye around his neck. He knew.

Saxony was in front of him with a few quick steps, his hands tight on Vernon's arm. The fingers of the other hand roe to tip Vernon's face up, and then his mouth covered Vernon's mouth in a hard kiss.

Vernon was mostly indignant at this manhandling of his person. He pushed Saxony off him perfectly easily. As it stood, the Troll King was off-balance and distracted as it was. And then he felt it in his mouth. He almost swallowed it, he was so angry.

Spitting into his hand, Vernon was stunned to find the little game chip that Saxony had disappeared mere moments ago.

He looked from Saxony's grinning face to the rest of the room, where everyone seemed to have noticed their struggle. He flushed in mortification, resigned to the story becoming the evening's passing remark. After all, he was a hired diplomat, Saxony was a king, and they were both men. Affairs had to maintain some kind of discretion.

"Strange, isn't it? The things that come out of someone's mouth?" Saxony put his hand back on Vernon's arm, but in a light clasp, apologizing to him in his typical careless way. He hadn't meant any harm.

Vernon glared at him but allowed it. Handed the chip back, too. "Straight from the God's mouth," he murmured, keeping a straight face.

"Talking the price of piss," Saxony retorted.

Vernon bowed extravagantly and held the door open for the Gerengh King. A boonan slithered up to them just outside the door and held out a bag.

Saxony dropped the game chip in and promptly forgot about it. "It has often struck me that slaves are a very nice thing to have around the place."

"That depends on what you call a slave," Vernon replied, "Oric will gladly sell you a few families of boonans, if you wish. They multiply so fast."

"They'd have no place in my palace. They'd get confused with my gerenghs. This way?"

"Do you want to go out or stay in?"

"Both," Saxony replied impulsively.

Vernon offered him a limpid glance. "Ah, then we go straight. There's a new indoor garden down here."

"Indoor… dare I ask?"

"No, not Sommy. Pikeshead made it. There's been some talk about it lately."

"An indoor garden? I don't wonder!"

"Oh, not the garden, just the art."

"Controversial, is it?"

Vernon nodded gravely and kept his laughter to himself. "Oric would have had it destroyed months ago but he invoked the law. You kow."

"Five years protection?"

"From the day the work is made public, yes."

"I thought the Inner Circle could advice her to overrule?"

"The Inner Circle can vote to advice her to overrule it. They never have before. She chose not to, anyway. She says it's not a good example to other artists."

The heavy door to one of the less useful sitting rooms done entirely in bird and animal hides dyed blue was gone. In its place was a series of shallow steps and an archway.

Art in the Allorn Queen's palace was always one of two things- overwhelming or exquisite. It was intended to strike the viewer dumb, either with pure pleasure, or through an inability to understand how such a monstrosity had ever been given shape. Very rarely did any aesthete manage unassuming. This gateway was not unassuming; unassuming would have been an improvement on the inability to understand why it was created.

"Go up," Vernon invited.

Saxony eyed the eyeless woman on the archway who nevertheless managed to squint at him. "I'm almost afraid. He doesn't have predator plants in there, does he?"

"No," Vernon reassured him, "It's an experience, but quite a safe one. Go on."

Saxony shook his dark head and went up. He found himself ankle-deep in a flowerbed.

"A miscalculation on his part," Vernon excused, appearing on the top step, "He meant it to be a carpet of flowers but he wouldn't listen to his gardeners' advice. Now we take care to wear boots in here."

"I must say," Saxony began slowly, "This seems a loathsome place."

Vernon gazed pleasantly back at him. "As you say."

Saxony took two steps towards the green lawn set so carefully in the middle and the wet cloying mud of the flowerbeds squelched. "But then there's Kartech's remarkable treatise on art to be considered."

"The Natural Art Theory is well known," Vernon agreed.

Saxony made an experimental hop. The mud squelched. He hopped again. The mud squelched again.

In between hopping to hear the mud squelch, he quoted, "Oh, for the landscaper who paints the excrement the shameless animals leave behind. The bard who sings of insects and gangrene on our brave battlefields."

Vernon obligingly joined in- "Or the poet who writes verses on his lover's pink…"

"I love it!" Saxony declared.

"Those lines are erotic to some," Vernon allowed, "But gangrene and excrement?"

"The garden! Not his lover's pink…"

"Please! My blushes! My sensitivities!" Vernon fluttered his eyelashes coyly.

"I recall nothing sensitive about some of your…"

Vernon threatened to leave. "As much as I enjoy the conversation, you go too far, old friend."

"Friend? How flattering."

They fell into silence, squelching to the lawn at the centre. Saxony gave one last jump in the mud before striding to the stone bench. He took a seat and stared around critically at the trailing vine on the walls and the young flowers still beginning to bloom in the beds.

Vernon sat beside him.

Wordlessly, Saxony took his cigarette case from the inner pocket of his jacket and proffered one to his companion. The matches slid easily from their place.

Vernon was the first to break that silence, the relaxant in the cigarette thinning his natural cautions- "Why is the world so excited by Sarah, Sax? I can't see it. She's a charming girl, though granted I've only ever seen her as a male, but nothing spectacular. There are three other new girls at this festival and all of them are ignored. Why Sarah?"

"I thought it obvious."

"Mostly, yes. But I want you to explain." The flirtatious grin flickered momentarily to life. "You're so much cleverer than I, Sax."

Saxony sighed affectionately and draped one arm around the other man's shoulders. "You remember when we spoke of Ementer, I asked how to turn a tame creature wild. This is very similar. Sarah has a savagery in her blood. Her desires are very real needs. It's always flattering to be needed, Vernon."

"You have compared the heir to the throne of the Goblin King to a pet," Vernon commented, "Huh."

"Imbecile."

"Decadant."

"You're not jealous, are you? Sarah doesn't seem your type."

Vernon grimaced. "She's not. I like the wild creatures."

"Like Sarah's birthfather. You did tell Robert you were only joking, didn't you?" Saxony needled.

Vernon didn't rise to the bait. "I did, yes. I like the wild creatures who can be tamed. That wasn't Robert."

"I remember Jareth didn't like you too well at the time."

"That's why I told Robert," Vernon shrugged, "Had to. Everyone knew something was wrong when Jareth punched me. It was only fair to give the man the truth."

"And yet you seemed to find your way to Sarah's side quite a lot before Oric took a fascination for her," Saxony said.

"At the time I thought she was wild. I have since changed my mind. Why?"

"I thought you might have reacted to the way she was adopted by everyone else."

"In part," Vernon sighed, "It can be hard to be properly flirtatious when the poor thing can't tell you from everyone else around her."

"I grant you that. Oric has certainly taken to complimenting her every second breath."

"But not Nico."

"No, not Nico," Saxony mused. He took his arm back and sat, smiling at the little 'bet' he had placed.

"Beatrice?"

Saxony laughed and ran a hand through his hair. "Beatrice thinks of Sarah as a commodity. She estimates that Sarah would fetch a king's ransom in the free markets."

Vernon didn't find it so funny. Sarah was attractive as far as his helplessness to be otherwise, but Vernon felt a vague sense of concern for the Princess. Perhaps because his parents seemed so inclined to leave Sarah to the questionable devices of others.

"Don't fall asleep. Evelyse's play will finish soon."

"So it will. What are you doing this evening?"

"Business with a Dross councilman. I intend to get a foot in that door, with or without Jareth's help. You?"

"Business with Clairen. Minor matters concerning certain new transport restrictions for Beinheir." Vernon took a long, last drag on the remains of his cigarette, thinking not for the first time that Jareth was a fool not to promote the export of this product in the worlds. They had potential to be very popular.

"Has Clairen made a play for that new inverse yet?" Saxony questioned, shattering the calm.

Vernon had no way to answer that. He sincerely hoped that the answer was a negative one, but given Clairen's current state, it probably wasn't.


	50. Chapter 50

Author's Note: Well, this is the second last chapter. And everyone who's ever read my stuff before (I always end up saying this) will know that I do not go quietly into that good night. Excuse the drama, but there must be a catalyst to draw the situation to its climax. I can only hope this fits.

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Jareth and Robert had joined their daughter when the show was over, amused at his delight over the new experience.

Lady Evelyse had nodded informally at them as they approached, bright-eyed with anticipation and excitement as her coming moment of glory.

Robert had raised an eyebrow as the conversation reached his ears, casting a dubious glance at Jareth.

"That was amazing," Sarah had said, "It looked so easy."

"It is very far from easy," Oric had laughed, "The trust between the actor and puppeteer is very rare. It takes intensive training to develop that ability to know the actor's limitations."

Sarah had shaken his head. "I want to know how those kids could do that. They didn't move a muscle without the right string being pulled. Every expression was perfect."

Robert had found a remarkable irony in those words.

Oric had caught Jareth's eye and beckoned him forward. "Hello, Jareth. Sarah has just reminded us of how enjoyable a quirop performance can be."

"No doubt," Jareth had said dryly.

"Oh, don't be so stern," Evelyse had teased. She had reached out and taken his arm, smiling up at him with a lick of her lips, "You like quirop too."

Jareth had, interestingly enough, politely withdrawn his arm from her grasp, looking backwards to his lover as though just possessed of a thought. "I do. Robert, did you know the singer?"

Robert had been as surprised as everyone else, but he had composed his features, merely shaking his head as though it was all a matter of course. "She was very good."

They had talked for a time, and Sarah had held his tongue, half-afraid that Jareth might curtail his freedom if he talked too much. He had found it disconcerting to watch Evelyse flirt so openly with Jareth while Robert stood right there. His earth sensibilities had rebelled against that. But then again, there had been a certain something going on with his parents. Sarah had made a note to find out later what that was.

Sarah had not expected to miss Evelyse's play. When the Lady took Jareth and Robert off to find good seats, Sarah had fully expected to follow on their trail sooner or later.

In all his life he had never seen such a diversity of culture. His imagination was firing with all this new information, filling out the dry facts that Jareth had crammed into his head before they had left the Goblin Kingdom.

He was beginning to see connections and similarities, to understand why one thing was done and not another.

It was all very well to know that a Peshawa had always to stand to the left hand of their owners, but it was another thing to perform that act and truly understand it. It made sense- taking the place of the supposedly weaker hand; becoming a part of the owner's body; publicizing one's place in someone else's life. He could look at his parents and know why Robert always took his place at Jareth's right, the Goblin King being left-handed. Could know it, understand it, and take satisfaction in conforming to it.

There were other delights, too. The ability to have a conversation and reveal nothing of himself. There was something delightful in such an exercise.

Sarah was certainly excited by this new life.

That was before Oric guided his steps to a private room away from the general population.

The Allorn Queen sank down on a couch with a sigh, one hand absently laid against her ribs as thought her clothes restricted breathing.

"Are you okay?" Sarah asked immediately.

Oric opened her eyes but didn't shift position. Sarah was still standing, she noted, very straight and correct. It was a very good sign. She didn't intend him to sit just yet. "Bring me a cushion," Oric said softly.

Growing more concerned, Sarah hastily picked a cushion off one of the armchairs and offered it to the Queen.

Oric took it but carefully set it to the side. "Pour me a glass of water from that sideboard, and then lock the door."

Sarah blinked in astonishment. "Is there something wrong?"

Oric frowned, but her voice remained even- "A glass of water, and lock the door."

Sarah hesitated, not liking the situation. The niggling worry of being alone in any room with another person besides his parents was growing larger. It was unthinkable, naturally, but Oric's insistence on locking the door was disconcerting.

What if Oric was ill? What if there was some danger?

Sarah had to consider all his options, even when none of them made sense.

Oric got to her feet, held her skirts with one hand and carefully walked around the young man. She locked the door and took the key from the lock.

Sarah was startled to see the key remove itself from her fingers and disappear A moment later he felt shock turn to fear. The shadows in the corner formed itself into a boto-neg, one with a drawn sword and a sewn mouth.

"I don't like to be kept waiting," Oric warned, "You will have to remember that."

Sarah opened his mouth but shut it again when he saw the look on Oric's face. The Allorn Queen was not joking, nor was she listening anymore. Her eyes were bright and the little red curls that had been left so artfully tumble around her face now looked wild and predatory. Sarah found he couldn't move. He couldn't think. His mind was blank. But far from any warmth, his blood was running cold through his veins.

"Doctor," Oric called without warning.

The bookcase opened to reveal a hidden door, through which a gaunt Allorn entered the room. He was followed by a boonan with two small grey case.

Sarah looked back at Oric.

"Undress," Oric told him.

Sarah wrists and fingers moved. He forced himself to stop, more from the sheer fright of what undressing would entail than from any more natural pride. He tried to protest, but the most he could manage was an inarticulate sound.

"Sarah, I will not brook disobedience. Undress."

The boto-neg was staring at him with hooded eyes, the sword still drawn and deadly. Was that a slight leer on that face?

"Must I have my guards cut those clothes from you?"

"No." Sarah put a hand to his mouth, goaded to awareness by the sound of his own voice. Hardening his resolve, he steadied his fingers enough to begin undressing.

He told himself to ignore the other people in the room, to concentrate on Oric and remember that he found her attractive. He couldn't feel more than revulsion at the moment, but sense dictated that she would do nothing to harm him. She couldn't. Sarah was Jareth's daughter and Oric wouldn't dare instigate a crisis.

He reasoned that perhaps this was normal. If Oric was like Jareth, then illnesses were dangerous. That would explain why the Queen was so tense; she was worried. Maybe Sarah had something- or Oric suspected she had something- that needed to be checked by a doctor. That could almost be a kindness, in its own way.

But why were his parents not here? Neither Robert nor Jareth had mentioned this to him. Why would Oric not tell them?

He removed his boots and put them carefully to the side.

"Fold your clothes," Oric interjected.

Sarah flinched but complied, folding the clothes he had removed so far before slowly moving his hands to his waist. There were only thee buttons. He shivered a little in the cold air and felt his skin break into goosebumps.

Oric nodded when he straightened up, her painted red nail tapping against her chin. She stared him up and down quite openly and began to smile. "My dear, you might be a very good bargain."

Sarah found his blood was too sluggish even to allow him to blush. Instead he turned his head and looked away, breaking with the protocol of his race.

Oric noticed but decided she would let it pass for this first time. It was galling to see a slave fight the reins, but there would be time later to commence training. One of her noblemen had an opi that could be borrowed or rented for the occasion.

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. On the couch, please, Highness," the doctor said.

A voice in Sarah's head laughed at such a title of respect in the middle of such degradation.

"Lie face down with the cushion under you. Yes, that way is good. Now, let me see."

The boonan appeared beside him, holding a strangely shaped wooden horseshoe. It held it out with a tentacle.

'_Put that in your mouth. They don't want noises_,' it said.

Too late, Sarah panicked, but panic only made him stiff and hyper-sensitive. He didn't take the mouthpiece, but stared at the boonan in terror and pleaded in his head for help.

'_I can't help you. I am a slave too_,' it said. And then it moved away.

Thoughts of plays and culture were forgotten. It wasn't a terrible pain, but the initial discomfort made his squirm and the humiliation itself was wounding enough. There was some pain later, when the device was widened, but Oric made the doctor stop.

"Let it be for now," Oric said, "I can see he hasn't done it before."

The metal thing was removed and Sarah relaxed his teeth on the cushion, colder now with the sweat on his body. From the little he could feel, the doctor was checking his spine, his shoulders and his hips, manipulating the joints a little to feel for their alignment.

"Good posture so far," the Allorn muttered, "Strong bone structure. No old breaks or injuries. The shoulders are not as wide as the average man. Let me see, now."

He was measuring him, Sarah realized, like he had once seen a goblin measure a table with a piece of string. Like the tailor has measured him to fit him.

The examination seemed to go on forever. The air never warmed and Sarah went limp with exhaustion. He let the doctor check his bones, his flexibility, the state and strength of his legs and feet. When the order came to turn over, he complied.

This time, when the boonan handed him the mouthpiece, he took it without a word and slid it between his jaws. He was thankful, this time. The thin glass rods were by far more painful than the metal thing. There were three. The thinnest was merely uncomfortable but the third one actually hurt enough to make him moan.

The doctor looked at Oric for directions but the woman only waved at him to proceed. The glass rod was forced to the end and then removed.

Sarah gave the mouthpiece back and resisted the urge to be sick. As before, the rest of the examination was not invasion. When that was finished, the doctor sat him up and checked his neck, his head, his eyes, his mouth, his ears and his scalp.

An hour was gone when the doctor sat back and reached for the final gray case. "Just some blood," he said soothingly, "And this will be over, Highness."

Sarah didn't even feel the needle enter his arm. He stared dully at the vial full of his blood that was taken from him, and then turned his gaze wordlessly to Oric when the doctor stood up.

"Stand up, dress, and sit down again," Oric ordered. This time there was no mistaking an order.

The boto-neg was still staring steadily at him, but Sarah no longer noticed. With each article of clothing, more of his mind was returning to him.

"A healthy specimen," the doctor was saying, "No structural flaws. Not as flexible as others of his kind but there are exercises. A few aesthetic negativities but the overall appearance was good. Still a virgin but quite easily stretched out. I would say training would be beneficial before putting him to service. It would be easy to damage him if he kept tensing as he does now. His organs feel in order, but without an internal exam I can't guarantee it. His blood sample should be clear, but I will let you have the result in two days.

The last words were punctuated by the snap of the locks on both gray cases.

Sarah sat down on the couch, sore and uncomfortable from the embarrassing insertions. He kept his gaze locked to the floor as his anger mounted.

The door opened and closed.

When Sarah ventured to look up again, it was because the rustle of silk warmed him that Oric was approaching. This time the room was bare of other people. Even the boto-neg had vanished again.

"You did very well, Sarah. I was very proud," Oric began, "Unfortunately, it seems your training is lacking. You don't obey orders, you expect me to repeat myself, you spoke when you were to be silent and you put teeth marks on my cushion."

"It hurt," Sarah said.

"I didn't say you could talk," Oric said gently, "Understand me, Sarah. Jareth may have announced you as his heir but you are a slave. It is in your blood. I have spoken to your father and he will give you to me for cultivation. I will further your education in what is seemly for you; in return I want your attention. You will learn to serve me, as you would your mate, and to help you I will employ an opi."

"An opi?"

"Silence. Yes, an opi. The lessons will be quicker that way. You and your body will be at my disposal. I will not demand more than you can give, but what I demand I will expect with brilliant results. Nod if you understand."

Sarah nodded once.

"Good." Oric smiled and leaned forward, patting his hand. The twinkle in her eyes was back making the whole thing seem a joke. "Don't tell Jareth, though. That is the last part of your test. I need you to trust me and do as I say. To be honest, I did not believe he would have given you a proper examination."

They left the room together and paused outside in the empty corridor. Oric went up on tiptoe to kiss him, one ladylike hand at the back of his head.

"We will have fun," she whispered, "You will learn everything you need to know."

Sarah smiled because it was expected, and Oric turned and walked away. Sarah had his orders; he was to go back to his room and bathe. Oric had arranged for a bath and fresh clothes to be ready in his rooms. If his parents noticed his absence at the end of the play, he was to cite sleep and time to himself as reasons for remaining in his room.

Sarah wondered idly how many other people knew. Clairen must guess, since he had to pay the doctor. There was no telling how many other boto-negs had been in that room. Or in the corridor, for that matter. Seen them go in; seen them come out.

By the time he reached his own floor, he was grateful for the comfort of a bath. By the time he reached his rooms, he truly did want some time to himself.

The magic and excitement was gone, evaporated on a selfish whim. Only it wasn't really, Sarah knew, that was the way the game was played.

Thank Helos, there was nobody in his room. Sarah had been half-afraid his parents would be there, somehow knowing he was upset. But his parents had no time for him now, too caught up with each other.

Sarah lifted his legs to get his stockings off and felt the slight frisson of discomfort. All of a sudden he was angry. More than angry he was furious! How dared the doctor have touched him!

He was the daughter of a King; a well-born lady no matter what he looked like at the moment. That doctor would have his hands broken if Jareth ever heard about it. If Jareth ever heard about it, that doctor would be lucky to survive.

Sarah pondered that as he let himself into his bathroom. He stared at the water, so still and calm, the surface so unblemished. Not steaming, but presumably warm because Oric had mentioned that word and Oric's words were not to be taken lightly.

Jareth wasn't likely to hear about it. At least, not from him.

Besides, Oric was really not so bad. Sarah had been perfectly happy to spend time with her before. He had kissed her and wanted to go further. He had dreamed of it, just the night before, and woken up long enough to take himself in hand to ease the ache.

The water was warm, and it rippled violently when he stepped into it.

He looked down and meditated on the shape of his toes through the prism of clear liquid- smaller, larger, not-quite-right. Quite apt, really. So different to the little girl who had dreamed of fairytales.

Well, Jareth had put paid to that early on, certainly.

Sarah could laugh about it now, even through the residual anger. Gone were all his pre-conceptions about fairies and goblins, kings and castles. Magic users had no use for humans and Sarah, as a human, would never be welcome in these worlds, Jareth's daughter or not.

The plays seemed rather a thin veneer of culture to the barbarity he had just experienced. People holding ideas and material goods higher than people.

Or was that really something he could fault them for? Humans did it too. Had done it, did excuse it, would probably do it again.

But there was a difference there. Sarah could sense it; but for the life of him, he couldn't explain.

He sat down and lay back.

Oric would take care of him the best she knew how. Sarah found himself inexplicably loyal to the woman. Not for anything else but that he felt he was tied to her already. It would only be a matter of time before Jareth completed all the official formalities and went back to the Underground with Robert. Sarah had thought of the future with some amount of eagerness, but now he wasn't so sure.

The loss of Jareth, as much as he hated to admit it, would be the loss of the only person he could trust to see him through this.

In the grand scheme of things, Sarah was aware that his problem was petty and insignificant. She knew Saxony was facing a potentially devastating drought. She knew the Vherders were facing stiff competition from smaller nations willing to supply cheaper goods in larger bulk. Jareth himself was… Sarah didn't like to say he knew, but Jareth was obviously on shaky ground in his own social strata. An athlete had let it slip to someone else without realizing who he was.

Some dimensions were on the brink of war; another was disappearing into an unknown mist that claimed life as indisputably as it claimed land. Others were oppressed and others were in the grip of dictatorships. Some were suffering natural disasters while others were dealing with revolutions and rapid change.

Sarah understood all that.

When it came down to it, his very human sensibilities were offended. He could accept he was a 'slave'. He could accept his own erotic reaction to an order or a need to submit, to supply pleasure in return for the heavenly feeling of euphoria that washed into his brain when he let it happen. He couldn't accept that he was to experience things that were unpleasant or painful simply because someone else decided his opinion wasn't worth noting.

It was less about Oric and more about his pride. Sarah's pride was wounded and he knew better than to let himself be placed in a situation where he would take his own freedom for granted.

Sarah was by no means unintelligent nor was he passive. Not truthfully, in the recesses of his heart, could he honestly say that he enjoyed being passive.

He settled further back into the water for some serious thinking.


	51. Chapter 51

Sarah paced his room for what seemed like hours on end, wearing the souls of his boots away on the carpet as he strained his ears to pick up the slightest sound from the corridor outside.

Eventually he gathered his courage and left the room. He paused outside the door and shifted from foot to foot, uncertain of how he would phrase what he needed to say. The sound of a chair scraped across the floor snuck out in the gap left for the hinges and he winced, his nerves already on edge.

It made no difference, however, to stand outside the door. His only hope was to enter it. To go in and face them down. Be as honest as possible.

He raised his hand, he quaked, and he lowered it again.

The door swung open and Robert simply jerked his head to invite him in. "What's wrong?" he asked immediately, "Jareth said you looked worried. Has something happened?"

"Er…"

Jareth was sitting on the couch with his spectacles on his nose and his writing case open on his lap. He was in the process of finishing a letter. "Sit down, Sarah," he offered gently.

Sarah sat down with a thump. "How'd you know I was there?"

His parents exchanged glances.

Robert said, "You're upset, honey. Your magic is going a mile a minute. There's going to be someone up here in a second to find out what's going on."

"Oh," he said blankly, and stared at his hands.

Robert clicked his tongue. "It's not like luring. You can't see it. Those sensitive to magic can feel it, but it doesn't do very much, really. Just relax and take a deep breath. Do your eyes hurt?"

"A little."

"It's natural. The magic is trying to find anything to direct it and your eyes provide a temporary support. Close them if it helps."

From Oric's little doctor's appointment this surreal lesson on magic, Sarah was beginning to feel a little confused. But he shut his eyes and blindly followed on trust. After all, his parents were hardly going to stretch him out and insert…

"Jareth!"

The crystal deflected the curse before it really hit the tapestry.

Jareth's papers were on the ground and he sank back into his seat with a frown on his face and rueful glance at the debris at his feet.

"Sarah!" Robert sat down next to him, "Sarah, honey, you okay?"

"Ow," he moaned, "My eye."

"Let me see," Robert urged, "Come one, baby, open your eye. I can't see if you keep it shut. Let me see. Hmmm." He carefully pulled on both lids and did his inexpert best. "No, nothing damaged. I'll call a doctor and you can…"

Sarah snapped his eyes shut.

Jareth put a hand on Robert's arm. "Come away," he ordered, and sat down on the floor. "Alright, Sarah. When I tell you, I want you to turn your head and look at the cushion…"

Sarah yelped and clapped both hands over his ears for good measure. He continued to press and continued to moan, squirming as the high pitched shrieking in his head refused to leave.

"What the devil is going on here! Robert, get some cotton, and get a pillow." Jareth hauled his daughter to his feet by his arms, "Sarah, listen to me, don't open your eyes. Just follow me and put your feet where I tell you to put your feet."

Sarah nodded mutely and couldn't really hear more than one word out of ten. He attempted to navigate but there was so much stuff in the way. Papers underfoot and something long and thin that made Jareth sigh when he stepped on it. The cabinet caught the toe of his boot and the edge of table knocked his thigh.

Jareth tried to steer him right but Sarah kept swaying, tipping from side to side like a drunken goblin. He himself wasn't as tall or as strong as he would like for the job. But he managed when Robert came back and tumbled all items on the chair in favour of helping him first.

"Fresh air, Sarah," Jareth said tersely, "Breathe."

Sarah sucked in a lungful of air and choked.

"Another one," Jareth ordered.

He faired better this time.

"Good girl," Jareth whispered, "Keep going. Once more."

"Thanks."

"It's alright. Robert, did you get a pillow? Remove all the, er, fluffy things on the couch before I bring her back in," Jareth said delicately, not wanting to set Sarah off again.

Robert bit back a grin- even with the stress of worry- and went to get the 'fluffy things' out of sight. He very kindly collected them in an armful and tossed them through the bedroom door. He shut the door and went back to his little pile on the chair.

"Here," he said, "I thought one of these might help."

He handed over the slender case.

Jareth gleamed a smile at him and maneuvered to get Sarah propped against the windowsill. He fumbled with the case and eventually just stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it, drawing on it a few times to strengthen it properly, and then he turned back and offered it to Sarah.

"You know," Robert remarked, "On earth, sires don't go around giving their children drugs."

"Most sires don't have untrained peshawas in the grip of mental traumas," Jareth retorted, "Light another one, truina. My nerves are shattered."

"Don't drop her out the window, Jareth."

"I'll try. I can't guarantee it."

Sarah shook his head. "Nice to know you two can joke," he grumbled.

"How's your head?"

"This cigarette tastes vile," he said.

Jareth nodded and took his own cigarette with a prayer of thanks that Fate had sent some goblin the thought of soaking a herb in a mixture of raw spirits and leaving it to dry in the sun so he could wrap it in flammable leaves and burn it at one end. He also hoped that the root of all this drama didn't lie in a few particular paths he had no wish to see his daughter forced down.

"Sarah," he said gently, "When you come in, I want you to look down. Not up, not at anything, just down."

Sarah nodded and slowly, slowly, Jareth helped him draw his head in. He kept his eyes lowered and tried not to focus on the carpet. It was tempting, what with the particular weave of black and red, but he tried.

"Alright. Now, when you look up, I want you to fix your eyes on the pillow, yes?"

He nodded again and took a deep breath. He looked up.

The pillow looked normal. Very much like a pillow, in fact.

Robert sighed and gave it to him. "Hold it in your lap," he said, "If you feel your eyes burn again, look at the pillow. There's very little that can go wrong with a pillow. And if your ears start popping, stick some cotton in them. The pressure will help."

Sarah muttered a 'thanks' and sank back down on the couch. He hid his face in the pillow for a little while and then looked up boldly, more determined that ever to say what he had come to say.

"I know Oric's offered to train me," he said clearly, "But I don't want to stay here."

Jareth picked up his glasses from where he'd dropped them and glanced up from turning them over in his hands. "I thought you liked Oric," he said noncommittally.

"I do." No point telling them everything. "I simply feel that this won't be for the best."

Robert stayed very quiet, with his hands neatly folded in his lap and his eyes moving from Sarah to Jareth and back again. He gnawed on the inside of his lip and worried in silence. It wasn't unnatural for someone like Sarah to have directionless magic overflowing a few times but the triggers were rather disturbing.

"How is that? Has she done something?" Jareth asked, getting straight to the point.

"She's made it clear that she wants a slave," Sarah shrugged.

Robert started a little and Jareth shook his head at his lover.

"Shocking as that may be for you, Lannon, that is not quite a good reason for me to refuse her offer." Jareth sank down in his chair and stretched his long legs out, folding his arms across his chest. He seemed to be admiring the gold tassel on his boot. "If anything, it convinces me that this episode is overdue."

"Excuse me!"

"Why?"

Sarah half-expected to see the corners of that thin mouth curling up in that infuriating smirk, but Jareth was very serious, if apparently distracted by his boots and the strings of his jacket. His mouth was firm and very straight, not smiling at all. His fingers, for all their languid wandering, seemed to belong to a body that was tight with tension.

No, Sarah was quaking a lot more now. He had visions of war and shouting and sharp, pointy swords. And boto-negs, too, like the one who had quite calmly watched him being 'examined'. How many boto-negs knew about it now? The one he had seen had had his mouth sewn up but there were other ways, maybe, that boto-negs could communicate. He didn't know. He'd never heard of them before this.

"Jareth," Sarah said timidly, "You're not angry, are you?"

For some reason, the possibility terrified him.

Those mismatched eyes softened somewhat. But only a little, Robert noticed, since Jareth really was in a fair way to growing angry. Which Robert took to heart as a good thing, because Jareth wasn't stupid and if he was growing angry, then he was suspicious too.

"I won't be angry with you," he assured, "Unless there is something you've left out?"

"Erm…"

"The truth, please."

Sarah had been expecting it. He put his hand reluctantly in his pocket and drew out all the letters he had received. Best to get it over it and better that Jareth should know. All to late, he realized this wasn't about likes and dislikes. How would Jareth put it- there was more to running a kingdom than that? Yes, something like that.

Robert took them away and looked at them. He handed most over to Jareth, one he kept for himself to read.

The Goblin King opened one but only scanned it. Then he dropped them over the side of the arm of his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his face. "Tell me," he invited softly, "Why now? What has she done?"

Sarah looked at Robert. His Dad was furious. Robert wasn't going to be any help. But Oric had told him not to tell. Somehow he couldn't even form the words.

Jareth just waited patiently, narrowed eyes never leaving his face.

"I can't tell you," Sarah confessed finally.

"She told you not to tell."

"Yes."

"She gave you specific instruction not to tell," Jareth repeated, "Did she say whom you weren't to tell?"

Sarah felt miserable. "I wasn't to tell anybody. Especially not you or Dad."

"Let it be, Jareth, she's not going to be able to do it," Robert broke in. He folded the letter up and put it aside. He didn't throw it, but he did look as if it made him nauseous. "Why didn't you tell us earlier about the letters? I assume it's Oric, right?"

"Yeah. I didn't know, but yeah."

"The letters are unimportant. You were foolish enough to accept them," Jareth dismissed, "She can claim that defense. Was that all?"

"Oric is not… I don't know how to say it."

Jareth raised an eyebrow.

Sarah sighed and gave in. "I don't want to be a slave," Sarah said, "I know that I… need certain things, but… that's not what I want."

"You have separated your needs and wants, I see. What does that signify? Am I to bring this up if I have to attend a tribunal?"

"Tribunal?"

"Honey, sometimes, if rulers have an argument that isn't so difficult to figure out, the dimensions hold a tribunal to decide. It keeps the thing from getting too serious and usually it just requires a few people with common sense to soothe a few sore egos."

"Oh, a tribunal," Sarah mumbled. More and more he was beginning to wish none of this had ever happened. "

Once again, Jareth shook his head. "I don't care about the tribunal," he said, finally breaking position to sit up and lean forward, "I want to know why you don't want to stay with Oric. I want to know what she has done to you. I don't like half the story. You see? So it would be better if you told me."

"If she could, she'd tell you," Robert snapped, "Don't be ridiculous."

Sarah froze.

Jareth only nodded and shrugged. "Then I'm not satisfied and I don't see why I should take her point into consideration."

"Because she's asked?" Robert pressed, "How the devil can you put that aside?"

"If she won't tell me what it is, then I can only conclude that she had some petty argument with Oric and she's here in a fit of pique."

"What!"

Jareth held up a hand. "What else would Oric claim?" he pressed, "What else will she say?"

"Jareth, you know that's ridiculous."

"Of course it is. Unless it's true?"

"No," Sarah retorted, stung by the accusation, "It wasn't petty at all. God, if I could tell you what she did! You have no idea!"

"Sex?" Jareth asked.

Sarah couldn't say it was.

"Torture? Pain of some kind? Slavery of any kind?"

"Of a kind," Sarah said reluctantly.

Jareth put a hand to cover his eyes. He seemed to be thinking for a long while. When he lowered his hand it was with a frown. "I'll see what I can do," he said.

Sarah looked relieved and then fidgeted. "Actually, I have another idea," he said.

Robert caught Jareth's eye and spread his hands helplessly. He had no idea what was going on either. He was more interested in what had happened to his daughter but Sarah seemed be shifting topics so fast at the moment.

"I was thinking that Oric was sort of right, I do need training," Sarah continued, "Only I don't trust her to do it. She's all over the place. I figure that's not going to help me very much. Besides, I don't trust her at the moment."

Sarah thought he saw a flicker of something strange in Jareth's demeanor but it was gone as suddenly as it had arrived.

"She keeps shifting, as if she's not quite sure what she wants me to be, so she thinks I can be everything. I can't. I found it's not easy to be obedient and then think for myself too. I just can't. I guess with practice I could do it, but frankly, not with Oric. And what happens when she gets tired of me messing up? What if I do something wrong and she doesn't like? It's not even trust, it's just that I don't think she really gets it. The fact that it's one or the other."

"One or the other," Jareth repeated that contemplatively, "This is why you reject what she offers you?"

Sarah lifted his chin defiantly. "Yes."

"Go on."

Sarah told them his plan and Jareth expressed himself at length on the subject. He wasn't enamoured of it, but he was willing to discuss it. He had a few warnings about certain related aspects but eventually dismissed Sarah to change when the clock struck six.

"I'll see to this tonight," he said.

Robert waited until the door shut before expressing his own opinion. "I don't like it," he said bluntly.

Jareth looked tired, and very moody, lifting the broken pen from the carpet and examining the cracks in the polished body. "I can't say I entirely approve either," he agreed, "But she has her heart set on it."

"Sarah doesn't understand everything," Robert protested, "You can talk her out of it."

"And you?" Jareth put the pen down and rose to his feet, "You can talk too, truina. You could tell her what she's doing is dangerous. You can persuade her. She'll listen to you."

"Pardon?"

"I would treat her the same way I treat you, wouldn't I? The same way Oric treated her. Saxony isn't the person I would pick myself but he is consistent. He knows what he wants. I don't know, Robert. At the moment I feel very low."

He was out of the room before Robert could even drop his jaw in shock. Jareth had never spoken like that before. Never once, in all those years. He sounded positively heartsick at the very thought that he might have been so callous. And for what? Because Sarah said it had to be one or the other so Jareth believed her?

Robert sat there as the sun began to set and the light through the open windows crept over the ink-stained carpet to climb over the sill towards the night. He watched the door almost anxiously for what seemed the better part of forty minutes but was still startled when Jareth emerged, dressed for the evening and still hollow-eyed.

"Go change, truina," he said.

Robert's jaw finally got tired of hanging open. He shut it with a snap and rose quickly. He was almost at the door and Jareth made no move to explain himself. He was at the door, one hand on the wood and already half-planned what he would be wearing, when he stopped and thought better.

He turned then and cleared his throat as noisily as he could. "I don't understand," seemed to be what his tongue could manage.

Jareth was cleaning his nails and he didn't look up at this. His voice, however, was very cold. "I can't say I ever have either. Go change."

Robert hesitated. "If I say 'no'," he said clearly, "I'll be thinking for myself. If I do as you say, I'll be your slave. Which do you want at the moment?"

Jareth didn't look up again. "You will still be my slave. Either way you do as I tell you."

"But once you give me leave to think, you can't control my thoughts," Robert returned, "You won't know what I want to say to you. And you won't be able to stop me saying it."

This time Jareth did look up. He put down the thin metal pick and clasped his hands lightly behind his back. "I'm listening," he finally decided.

Robert took a deep breath. But when he opened his mouth nothing came out. He closed it again and just looked mutely at his lover. There was really nothing he could say. What could he say? Jareth hadn't been Oric, but he'd been something worse. Sarah had had a choice in the matter and she had chosen not to stay after only one incident. Robert had stayed there some decades, had put up with all of it, had been far more severely abused. What was he supposed to say after that? That it didn't matter? Of course it mattered!

"You have nothing to say," Jareth observed. He nodded and half-turned.

Robert grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him into the door frame, more frustrated than he had ever been in life.

Jareth almost fell over, he was so off-balance, but he was too surprised to say a word.

And then he was kissed. In such a way that he could have said nothing even if he'd wanted to. In sheer bewilderment, he kissed back, opened his mouth, offered his tongue.

It brought no clarity, but it was a damned good twenty minutes.


	52. Chapter 52

Author's Note: I was a bit premature in announcing the second-to-last chapter. I've realized that I need a few extra chapters to complete this properly, so, if nobody, I'm going to use them! But this is the third-to-last chapter. I promise. I don't see myself needing more after this. Sorry, once again, for mixing things up so badly.

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"She chose?" Saxony echoed, still not quite able to believe his ears.

Jareth glanced casually around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. But astuteness told him that the crowded green room was perhaps the most private place to have such a delicate conversation. If, he reminded, Saxony would bother to keep his voice down.

"Explain this to me again, Jareth, I don't think I understood," the Gerengh King leered, "Your daughter has decided that nothing will do but to have me train her? I? I've never trained a peshawa in my life! What put such an unholy scheme in her head?"

"She trusts you," Jareth said bluntly, "She wants no formal training, just someone to… initiate her, so to speak."

"And this initiation has your approval?"

Jareth bowed civilly to the Ciraphine as she whirled passed in the arms of a very earnest young Allorn. "I am open to persuasion," he stressed.

"Ah yes. So the burden is on me to prove my worth. I see, I see." Saxony lifted no more than one finger in the direction of the little xaroparson, and it was there in an instant, proffering its tray with a blink of spectacular grey eyes.

Jareth impatiently refused the spirits.

The xaroparson melted away as soon as Saxony made his selection.

Saxony tasted the stuff, winced as the first sip burned down his throat, and then sighed in pleasure as it left warmth in its wake.

"You seem strangely tense, old friend," he said suddenly, looking back to Jareth, "A drink would do you good. Take the rod out of your spine."

"That would be natural resolve, Saxony; you must learn to cultivate it sometime. I find it useful," Jareth retorted.

He caught sight of Robert and Sarah with the Duchess of Jopher and felt some strange measure of reassurance. Evelyse would ensure that no one approached them. Considering some of the derision thrown his lover's way, it was a relief.

"No one will dare," Saxony said unexpectedly, still sipping at his drink, "Robert is outcast in this society."

"Outcast? What for?"

"The scandal, the bad behaviour." Saxony smiled a little at Jareth's indifference to the news. "You understand that he will not be acceptable to this world any more?"

"He will be. In time."

"Oh, in time everything is acceptable. Look at the fashions! When we were young- and I hesitate to recall such times to mind- but when we were young, we were always taught that redheads were never to wear pink. And now look." He discreetly indicated Oric seated on the elaborate throne on the raised dais.

Jareth was forced to admit that Saxony had a point. "As you say," he agreed neutrally, "In which case, I have less reason for caring that these people stand on an honour they don't have."

"No one said the system wasn't hypocritical, Jareth. But how long when you think that Robert isn't one of them? And doesn't care for them as he should?"

"Why should he care?"

"Jareth, did you never pick up on the social code of choosing a mate? My father drummed it into my head and I'm quite certain even a Dross minister would do the same for his son," Saxony commented, "When it comes down to it, most of our dimensions don't care who you find attractive. But they do care when the cost of interacting with you puts them in the direct range of someone or something they don't like. Robert, at the moment, is someone that they don't like. It's bad for business."

"Good or bad, Robert is non-negotiable. Anyone with any sense knows that."

Saxony laughed and leaned against the pillar behind him. "My dear," he said affectionately, "If any of us who come to you have any sense, we would sort our problems out on our own."

Jareth ceded the point with a twisted smile. He had often remarked it to himself. It wasn't vanity- much- but complete fact. He solved problems for people who weren't in the habit of solving problems themselves. It was that straightforward.

Unfortunately, Saxony fell into the category of those who had sense, but chose not to use it except for his own amusement, which left Jareth's petition to him on very shaky ground.

"They will get over it," he finally decreed, "They got over his departure; they'll do the same with his return."

"And you want to subject Robert to the indignity of suing for their approval. I see. I wonder Sarah doesn't stay with you; you have more aptitude for this slavery business than I have."

The tone was light, but Saxony didn't mean it as a joke. He meant it to sting, for his own amusement or as a censure, he wasn't certain. But the fact that the Goblin King looked vastly unapologetic for this realization left Saxony disgruntled with the whole affair.

Saxony, like Jareth, had no patience with slavery on an official level. Saxony, like Jareth, completely disapproved of slavery on a personal level. But Saxony had no patience with slavery because ownership did nothing for him. He had inherited a kingdom by right. He was given respect by the gerengh by right. He had looks, wit, charm, friends, allies, enemies- all by right. He felt no compunction to take a mate by right. No, there had to be some pleasure to the chase, to the seduction. Jareth, he had always felt, was still working with a chip on his shoulder, too conscious of his early beginnings and too proud of his rise in status.

There were limits, and Jareth didn't bother to keep them.

"What are the terms," Saxony asked abruptly, surrendering his glass to the other hand, "What can I expect in return?"

"Payment, naturally, which will be…"

"My diplomats deal with finance, " Saxony broke in, "I don't. What else?"

"A stipend for Sarah…"

"That is money, Jareth, stop thinking like a merchant. I want some value for my time and effort. My coffers don't need help."

Jareth controlled his tongue. One look at Saxony's face told him he had said something wrong. He couldn't think what, but the reason why was less important at the moment than the consequences. Taking the space of a breath, he changed tactics.

"As you wish," he murmured, drawing nearer, "You can take the publicity for this one, and the gossiping rights if you must. Sarah is not to be paraded like a trophy, but I'm sure she has some exhibitionist tendencies- they all do- you can decide on that with her. You have the license to do whatever you like with her that does not compromise her morals, my morals and a certain standard of decency. That being said, short of hurting her or mutilating her, you have full permission to try everything once."

Saxony dropped his head a little to hide the very obvious knowing smile he saw echoed so openly on Jareth's face.

"After which, I might be more disposed to visiting your kingdom," Jareth continued, one hand out as though offering something precious, "Who knows what such contact might do for both our kingdoms? All those long talks in an informal setting- I could offer you all kinds of interesting advice on the, er, efficient management of land and property value?"

He gestured to Sarah. "My daughter has done you a great honour. I suggest you feel grateful for it."

He knew when he had played a trump card, and he left accordingly, making for his family with the single-minded determination of closely allying his own presence with theirs. Robert wasn't comfortable with Evelyse, and Sarah was still tired. Even from here he could see him look uncomfortable and reserved.

These people could smell fear like blood, and they were circling ever closer.

He reached them, and tipped Sarah's chin up to meet his gaze. "Smile," he warned softly, "I want no blushes any more."

Sarah looked surprised, but he obliged him with a thin curl of the lips.

Jareth nodded approvingly and then started when Robert tapped his shoulder.

"What did Saxony say?" Robert asked openly.

Jareth shot a warning look to the back of Evelyse's head, but the woman was talking to someone else, discussing the use of double negatives and popular grammatical slang as methods of expression in literature. Evelyse was arguing against it.

"I left him deliberating," Jareth evaded. Unable to resist, he reached out gloved fingertips to touch those brown curls. Couldn't help himself, really. "He'll agree," he promised, his voice dropping intimately.

Sarah stared in fascination from one to the other. He had been trying not to jump to conclusions, but that strange tension was beginning to look an awful lot like a love affair. Or some kind of affair, any way. He wasn't sure if either of them were capable of falling in love with each other. But how had Jareth put it- fall in lust? That term could certainly be relevant.

He didn't know how he felt about that.

A little disgusted, remembering Jareth and his first trip through the Labyrinth… remembering his father and Karen and Toby… there was something tasteless about the both of them deciding to do whatever it was they seemed to be doing.

Then again they were allegedly his parents, so he supposed he should feel happier that his family was trying to sort itself out.

And there was a slight touch of relief, he had to confess, for the possibility that his Dad might not be totally averse to this future. What else did Robert have? Karen had thrown him out and Jareth hadn't given any hint that he would let Robert go his own way, so wasn't it better if Robert could reconcile himself with Jareth? Liking, maybe not, but if they were attracted, things could work from there. Sarah had full confidence in the powers of attraction.

Jareth had less confidence. He put his hand down and didn't pursue it further.

Robert watched the veil come down over those strange eyes and turn them enigmatic again. Then he could only see the sharp profile as Jareth moved away to speak with Evelyse.

Sarah shook his head at the little interlude, but Robert didsn't. He had expected it. He went back to politely surveying the crowd.

"Um, Dad?" Sarah ventured.

"Yes?"

"Um, what was that?"

"What was what, Sarah?" Robert asked absently.

"That thing, with Jareth. Did something just happen?"

"Nothing, honey," he said, "Nothing at all."

Sarah stared anxiously at his Dad's face for a long pause and then stood up a little straighter. "Dad, are you and Jareth getting close?"

Robert looked back and decided to give him a little piece of advice- "Sarah, I could have my hand deep in Jareth's chest with my fingers wrapped around his heart and that wouldn't necessarily be close. If you mean am I having sex with him, well, that's not really very close at all."

"That's a disgusting image."

"Well, that's what I had to do once," Robert said honestly.

"You stuck your hand in Jareth's chest?"

"Not Jareth, no. A xaroparson. An Allorn brought it along to Brenth Naigur and asked that someone stick its hand in its chest. He got off on that."

Sarah winced and Robert laughed.

"Does that disgust you? Why? It's a simple enough thing and it doesn't hurt the xaroparson. They can't feel pain. And they heal amazingly fast. I swear, I could feel it healing around my hand." Robert hadn't thought about that episode in a hundred years and he looked at the memory in his head and found it marvelous. "All muscle and blood, pumping beneath your fingers. The ability to share that with someone else, that's close. But even then, holding someone's heart in your hand doesn't mean anything if you don't value it."

Sarah nodded awkwardly and didn't say anything. There was nothing to say.

"Sex, honey, is very similar. I know what they taught you on earth was that sex was pure and good and about love. I learned it wasn't. It was survival. Now, maybe you can think of ways to make it both, and then you can tell me how to do it." He ruffled Sarah's hair and slipped away, wrenching something in him to leave just like that.

Sarah stood against the wall and looked after him without actually seeing him. There was nothing new in those words, pretty as they sounded, because it was all logic. Sarah had figured that out weeks ago.

"Where did he go?"

Sarah pointed the way and Jareth disappeared too.

Sarah just watched them go and said a silent, short, grammatically rough prayer to Lathos in Peshan that neither of them would kill the other with this business. He didn't feel the need to follow them, but he did feel a little naked, standing there without protection. He'd never been left so abruptly before.

It was quite exciting.

"Jareth seems very sure of himself," he heard at his right.

He jumped in fright, but it was only Saxony, a smile on his round face and his hands clasped lightly behind his back.

"I think," Saxony said, his tone growing pensive, "That we have a few details to work out." Then the leer came back. "Beauty," he said, his eyes lighting up gleefully.

Sarah blinked, but found himself eerily reluctant to deny that.


	53. Chapter 53

Author's Note: Close continuation from the chapter before. I've been so lax with updates recently that I haven't done it right in the chapter before this one. But generally if the chapters follow so close to each other, they are direct continuations and not chapters in their own right.

Author's Note 2: This is- finally- the second to last chapter. I know it's been a while but I've found the space where I want this story to be.

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Neither Jareth nor Robert left the evening's dance, not daring to be away when the formal meal began.

Robert took his mate's arm in a light grip, making sure it was a gentleman's hold and not a lady's by calculating the distance his fingers rested away from the crook of Jareth's elbow. He cast a glance forward and was pleased to see Sarah had already taken Saxony's arm in a similar fashion. He concluded someone else must have taught Sarah because he certainly hadn't.

Jareth didn't say a word to him as they entered the dining hall behind Oric. The leaders were grouped according to very strict policy and they took their places at the long table where Oric sat, as was their due, and ignored the rest of the party as the table was segregated from then on by everything from the services laid on the table to the food they ate.

It seemed to last for hours, what with the courses, conversation and speeches.

Jareth took his part in it, discussing policies and politics with a carefully schooled diffidence for the fact that the purpose was a meal and not a rally, but Robert kept silent.

Robert stayed by Jareth's right, because he knew Jareth would want it, knowing that it wasn't done to take such an important place. The last touch of independence in this minutely planned slew of traditions. He blandly didn't look back at the startled glance from the lady seated to his own right, knowing she was blaming him for his presumption.

Because that was how it always was. The slave was meant to be blamed, because the master had to be blameless. Jareth was too important to be blamed when a disgraced and outcast peshawa was obviously the reason Jareth was under so much stress. It wasn't rudeness, poor thing, Jareth wouldn't know all these little things because of his background and anyway he had so much on his mind he was likely to forget, but that Creature should know and how dare he deliberately violate it.

Robert ignored the lady and stayed silent. She didn't bother with him.

He did watch Oric, however, and the first time that Oric saw Sarah on Saxony's arm, he thought the Allorn Queen would scream.

It tired him, all this subterfuge and playacting. Earth had never been so hard, even though he had to keep his own secret. Not for the first time, he thought of his family and wondered if Toby missed him, and whether Karen was coping. Not for the first time, he remembered that Karen would cope, and that Toby would grow out of any grief.

He brought his mind back to the present when Jareth placed a hand on his knee discreetly under the tablecloth.

They left as early as it was possible for them to do so, and made their way silently to their suite.

Robert wasn't certain what Jareth had in mind for their privacy, but he said nothing when the Goblin King undressed them both and drew him to the bed. He watched the softened eyes carefully, watching every slender limb move across the sheets, followed as best he could in the dark.

Jareth only drew him down and lay with him. At first, he seemed content to lie side by side, with a hand on his arm, but the restlessness fingers forewarned of a disturbed mind.

Robert accepted the head that spilled blond hair over his shoulder, accepted the wandering fingers and tried to offer as much comfort as he could with his silence and sympathy.

But no position seemed to work and Jareth couldn't seem to find a place that was comfortable.

Until he settled with his head on the soft concave of Robert's stomach, slender body sprawled across the sheets and his hands finally still against the curve of a hip.

Robert laid a hand on the blond hair, dimly recalling a similar incident from years ago, when physical touch had been the only thing that could soothe. He applied himself willingly, stroking and petting the way one would stroke and pet a cat, tickling the fragile skin behind the ear and caressing each distinct lock separately between his fingertips.

When words came, he wasn't expecting them.

"You want to go back Up."

Robert lifted his head enough to peer at Jareth's face but the angular features were averted, staring at the door opposite them. He might not have known what to make of the thoughtful gleam in those unmatched eyes, but the tone of that voice in itself was hard to decipher. Dealing with Jareth, it was best to apply the truth with cautious strokes.

"I have a son Aboveground."

"And your wife?"

"Her name is Karen," he said quietly.

"Her name hardly matters to me," Jareth pointed out. He lifted his head from Robert's stomach, turning on his side so he could look Robert in the eye. As far as was possible. "Do you miss her?"

"What do you want me to say, Jareth?"

"Be honest."

"You sure?" Robert asked ironically, "I've tried that before."

Jareth didn't look down. He did look a little uncomfortable. "The truth is sometimes a hard path to choose. I never hurt you to break you."

Robert sat up and looked down at him. "No, you don't, do you? You do it to keep me going your way."

"I have needs, the same as anyone else. I force them onto you. I feel you owe me that."

"What do I owe you, Jareth?"

"You're mine. I knew that when I first saw you."

"You did? The first time you saw me, I was stained with sand and hysterical."

"The first time I saw you, you were in the cell." At Robert's astonished look, Jareth shrugged. "I arrived the night before. I heard your case from my guide. I wanted a look at you."

"What for?"

"To see if I could help you," Jareth returned, "I almost asked for you then and there."

"I'm glad you didn't. It wouldn't have been seemly."

"No. Lusting for a criminal does not leave a good impression on diplomatic visits."

"And that's all it was, eh- lust."

"No, not really. Admiration of sorts. Protectiveness. Indignity at the reckless abuse of something priceless."

"You make me sound like an expensive heirloom," Robert commented wryly.

"Aren't you? I wouldn't have taken you otherwise, Robert, you know this. I demand the best."

"Why must you always rely on other things for your bloody ego," Robert sighed. The Peshawa shook his head and flopped forward on his stomach so he could lay his head next to that blond one in the centre of the bed. "I've told you before- the worlds will have you without all this fuss and mystery."

"My dear, you of all people know how uncultured I am. The worlds will deal with me because they have no choice. I have the legal monopoly on passage to Earth and I have skills few can match. Besides, my country has markets and currency and I am pleasing enough for an evening's entertainment. But they comment and mock when I'm not there to see it."

"They don't dare," Robert laughed.

"No? The statue of the worker," Jareth retorted, "Has my hands. My hands, Robert- the hands of a King."

"You're being paranoid."

"If I were being paranoid, I would say that half the major dimensions use me to further their own gains while the established powers ignore me. Oric's courtiers painstakingly explain every piece of artistic temperament to me as though I am unable to assimilate it. I would also remind you that most people think that I am fitted for my role as the King of the Goblins, for where else would my talents- unrefined as they are- be acceptable."

Robert stroked the thick blond hair, gentling the heat warmed brow as though to stroke the very thoughts from the intelligent brain.

"I am happy in my ignorance, Robert. Art does nothing for me. The time these decorated hedonists spend on their affectations, I spend on pleasing my mind."

"Are you trying to say you don't feel it? The way they talk about you?"

Jareth laughed, putting up a hand to catch his lover's fingers. "I can have these fools humiliated or destroyed at any time I want."

"I've heard this before. It sounds remarkably like hot air."

"You don't believe me?"

"I believe you. But you have yet to prove your strength."

"I don't need to. I know I have it and if the time is right I will use it. Why? Did you have someone in mind?"

"No. I was thinking about how you deal with me," Robert considered, "I've never seen you be as ruthless with anyone else. Everyone else thinks you're calm and collected. Very reserved. They don't know your temper like I do."

"I don't want them to," Jareth growled, lunging closer, hand unerringly going to that tiny spot on the back of Robert's neck, "They shouldn't be close enough. If they are that close, they will know what the marks mean."

The Peshawa hissed out a tiny breath and arched, away from the hand, towards Jareth- it didn't matter so much. The whole world was narrowed to Jareth's body and Jareth's scent and Jareth's voice. The world didn't exist beyond the room and it was hazy enough beyond the bed.

"You like this, truina. Why pretend for all those years that you didn't? Why fight?"

"This wasn't what you offered."

"I can give you freedom if you give it back to me. If you let me give it in pieces," Jareth whispered, massaging down the slender neck, "That's the only way it can be: if you fear me, if you love me, and if you do exactly as I say."

"I can't do that. I'm not trained to do that."

"You're trained to do what I want."

"I'm not trained to love where I can't." It was a confession. One that had been repeated many times over. The whole argument had been repeated many times over. Times without number. When the words had been shouted and the point had been emphasized with brute strength on flesh and furniture.

The same fiery passion wasn't in evidence any more.

Jareth nodded and moved to kiss a warm cheek. "You want to go back to the Aboveground. To love."

"I love her. I really do. The way we once did. Do you remember?"

"I remember you came to me with passion, with the stars in your smile."

"Bad poetry, Jareth?"

"You liked it once."

"Pretty words. They didn't mean much after."

"After I started being brutal? Why is that? You're used to it, truina. You've lived with it. Why react only with me?"

Robert tried to think and those fingers had considerately stopped massaging his neck and shoulders, giving him more brain power to concentrate on the mental effort. Jareth deserved answers at least. There would be no more chances beyond this point, no matter what else happened. Even if it didn't work, this was the only time, when they still cared enough to try.

"You didn't want me to be that," he explained slowly, touching his neck in memory, "You're right- Naigur Brenth is a whore house. I met a man once, who asked that I talk with him. He explained my situation. He told me there were others who had broken from their clan. They had families, he said, and proper lives. Nothing like the mindless devotion everyone expects from us. People talk over our heads like we can't understand. They treat us like cattle in a sale, discussing our teeth and our backs. The ignorant expect us to know exactly what they want without telling us anything, and when they don't get it, it's our fault. The man told me all this, and after thinking about it, watching myself and the others, I knew he was right."

"You thought I would give you this new life," Jareth completed.

Robert shrugged and played with the long hair over Jareth's shoulder, tweaking absently because his fingers were trying to occupy themselves.

"You never had that, Robert. How could you even expect it? I don't discount your independence but freedom is never given to any of us. We choose. And your choice was to be with your clan, or to be with me. You chose me."

"I didn't choose."

"Pardon?"

"I didn't choose. I was given. If I had chosen, we would have been mated. But I was given to you to do with as you wished."

Jareth sighed and rested his chin on Robert's shoulder. "Alright. You had no choice. But you had the choice to live as a Peshawa and you rejected it long before I came."

"I rejected it, Jareth. Note your choice of words. I rejected it."

"For a fairytale that couldn't come true."

"It did, for a while."

"Love makes fools of us all."

Robert jerked away. "What?"

Jareth smiled and touched him, pushing a hand between his knees and sliding it upwards. "Didn't you know? Wildly in love. I don't do things by halves. And you made it easy on me. You were utterly charming. And beautiful. Even the way you tasted." He began with a very gentle rhythm, knowing that Robert liked that best of all. "You remember that first night?" He tightened his grip just a little. "Once more, love. Once more for me."

"We're talking. Not now. Later."

"Now. If you're going to go back to that wife of yours, I want it now."

"Jareth, that's not fair…"

"What is, love?"

Robert debated physically stopping the entire ordeal, but he didn't want to. It wasn't an ordeal. Jareth wasn't coming to him at night, oblivious to the point of cruelty. He didn't demand, even with all the terse sentences. He was asking, stroking a request into Robert that Robert couldn't say no to. Not Jareth's fault that he was persuasive.

Robert grabbed the back of Jareth's head and offered his mouth to be kissed. Tossed a leg over Jareth's hip and rocked into his hands.

"Is this the only way I can get Aboveground?" he gasped, "Payment in this form?"

Jareth bit harshly at his lip and tugged harder with his fingers. Enough to hurt. Just a little. Because Robert needed to hurt. "No," he muttered, "That's your choice. Stay or go as you wish. But give me this."

His choice. Robert closed his eyes and fell into the jerking rhythm of Jareth's hands.


	54. Chapter 54

Author's Note: Sorry it took so long to get to the end. My computer crashed and took the last chapter with it. This is the last chapter in the fiction. There will be an epilogue, but I'll have that one up by the end of the week.

Author's Note 2: Thanks so much to all of you who stuck with this fiction in spite of patchy writing and recycled ideas. I'm very grateful especially to those who were kind enough to review and encourage me to try harder.

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"We are agreed, then?" Saxony questioned. He tapped the paper and smiled a little at the brief pause.

"Yes," Sarah said, "Agreed."

"Good. You can have that copy and I will keep this. In four months' time I will expect your arrival. Bring whom and what you like; I have no objection. Clothing might be better made in my lands. Goblins never have learned how to make warmer clothing. And their metal keeps freezing."

Sarah groaned. "I hate the cold."

Saxony shrugged. "You chose, Beauty."

"Stop calling me that!"

"That's not in our agreement," Saxony chuckled. He saw the annoyance on the face on the opposite side of the table and leaned over, lightly touching Sarah's chin. "Truce, then."

Sarah sniffed and tried to look nonchalant. He was mostly unsuccessful where Saxony was concerned. Saxony, Vernon and Jareth, to be more precise.

Sarah huffed for a few minutes and Saxony wisely decided to go, with the mocking reminder than on another day he would go something about all this bad temper. The moment Saxony shut the door Sarah retreated into his bedroom and made sure the door was almost completely shut.

Sarah didn't necessarily like signing things. He glanced moodily at the open desk in the outer room. Neither he nor Saxony had chosen to mention the earring that lay in plain sight- probably ignored on Oric's part through sheer bloody-mindedness.

Robert was expected to come through at any time now.

Sarah didn't want to see his father either. He didn't want to see anyone. Saxony's whirlwind of social activity over the last six days was far more than Sarah had ever dealt with in his life. When Saxony didn't want Sarah himself, he seemed more than happy to palm him off on various widows and virgins who didn't have constant partners. Most of them had been nice, one had been monstrous, three had stood on his foot, and two had tried to draw him on the subject of his parents.

When the festival officially ended with the traditional dance, the numbers for that latter group had severely risen, what with the less important people conscious that they had to leave the next morning.

It was a most frustrating situation since Sarah couldn't answer them. He didn't know what was going on either. Robert hadn't been to morning prayers with him since the second day of the festival. Saxony hadn't given him the time to corner either of them alone.

Something was obviously going on. That much was clear, but as neither of them volunteered information, he didn't dare to ask. Knowing Jareth's twisted logic, he felt assured that asking would yield questionable results.

Besides, it wasn't any of his business. Sarah thought of that as he sat down on the floor, chewing on his lip as he concentrated suspiciously on staring through his partially ajar bedroom door. But just as Sarah had decided he would choose who got to order him around, Robert looked to be doing the same thing. Why Jareth, Sarah didn't know. But that was their business and they didn't want to discuss it with anyone.

What was Sarah's business was that contract. He didn't know if Jareth had seen it or knew of its existence. He was strangely reluctant to talk about it, even if Saxony had been very open about the whole thing and meticulously pointed out that he was free to seek advice from anyone he chose to before signing it.

Could that had been reverse psychology? Make him feel guilty for not trusting Saxony enough and Sarah felt he might just sign away his soul. Certainly he'd just signed a good portion of his immediate future away. Could that contract be a trap? Did it have to be a trap? Sarah had volunteered himself. Did Saxony even use traps like that? He talked like the kind of person who did. But he didn't talk about the agreement like it was.

Sarah didn't know.

Sarah was coming to conclusion that he didn't know much of anything, even if he now knew as much as that he didn't.

Robert would see it though. Saxony had all but ordered him to show his parents the wafer-thin document with the blue penmanship and the wax seal so thick and heavy it would rip the page if he lifted it into the air.

Was it that easy to break the damned thing? Could he end the whole deal with an "Oops! I held up it and it tore. Sorry! Can I go home now?"

He brooded some more on the floor of his bedroom.

Boto-negs weren't allowed in his bedroom. Saxony had given a request amounting to a threat to Clairen that the invisible palace guards would stay the hell out of his new slave's bedroom unless Clairen wanted to explain to Oric why the Allorn Kingdom was facing a tribunal blacklist for indecency and living-property assault. Saxony had been more verbal and far more cursive. Sarah didn't think Clairen even blinked. But the boto-negs stayed out of his bedroom. The painted eye above Sarah's bed made sure of that.

Strange, that the eye didn't bother him at all even when he knew that Saxony could see him through it at any time he wanted. It was quite enjoyable, really, adding that little thrill of just the right amount of safe uncertainty.

Saxony had said he could take his time before anything needed to happen.

"I have other ways to combat that boredom," the Gherengh King had sweetly explained.

Sarah didn't know if he felt jealous or relieved for that. More so since Vernon had been biting back a smile beside him. Not to mention Leeman Brace's little chat to Saxony just outside the hall in a square of light on the garden lawn. Full view and smirking like a cat.

Sarah fell asleep with troubling dreams of garden paths and snakes, still sitting on the floor of his bedroom.

Saxony came back with Robert, talking earnestly about the best ways to care for a peshawa and the two of them found him like that.

Smiling fondly with visions of little girls and bedtime stories, Robert shut the door and left him there.

"Where's the contract?" he asked, turning back to Saxony.

"On the desk. Sarah signed it but I'm open to suggestions," Saxony replied, "That girl is quick to decisions. No deliberation whatsoever."

Robert bristled a bit and then caught that wicked gleam. "Thankfully she's not Jareth yet," he remarked tellingly.

"No, thankfully she isn't. I don't know how you stand him."

"It's more a case of lying than standing."

Saxony grinned and ceded the quip with good grace. "Then I don't know how you lie with him." He made sure he said it openly. "I call him friend, but that's an estimation of contact, not understanding. He's a cold one. How do you do it?"

Robert shrugged, too busy reading. He'd been answering a few questions himself on that score by the very few people Jareth grudgingly handed him over to. After six days, the questions went in one ear and vanished completely to the back of his mind.

"This tutor," he said suddenly, "What credentials does he have?"

"Standard Peter Gant devotee. Questions of life and general knowledge. The rest I'll do myself."

"Medical instruction?"

"She'll learn as she needs it."

Robert shook his head. "No. Proper training. It's more marketable for her if she has more skills."

Saxony inadvertently looked to the shut bedroom door, easily slipping out of his body to peep through the painted eye in the room. Sarah was still asleep, so the words couldn't bother her. "She will be the future Queen of the Goblins. She could be a half-wit and still a prize."

"If she were a half-wit she wouldn't survive on the throne," Robert said politely, "She will need to be very strong to keep control for herself and that means knowing what she needs to know. Besides, Jareth's plan might not work and then she'll need other positions."

"Surely the only other position Jareth will allow his daughter to take is mate to his heir."

Robert knew where to draw the line between ignoring the potential boto-neg hidden behind the wainscoting and remembering that there were things he just couldn't allow out of his mouth. "It's still best," was all he could come up with, "Give her the training, please?"

"I can arrange it."

Saxony sat down on the couch and propped his feet on the low table, neatly crossed at the ankle and accompanied by faint traces of mud from his recent trip through the charming little bramble maze with Vernon.

He made a mental note to ask the diplomat to help him arrange a trip to the peshawa realm. It would be a wonderful story to buy him some favours if he took Sarah back there on his arm and so clearly untrained. It would give Sarah a choice to open her eyes a little as well.

"Excuse me," Robert called quietly, "I understand her position in regards to you, but it isn't clear how she stands against the servants. Will she have any authority?"

"I don't see how much she needs."

"For domestic matters, I would expect some."

"Then, yes, I can grant those." Saxony did it grudgingly but he saw the logic. Robert looked too apologetic about bringing it up to refuse anyway. "Anything else?"

Robert looked up instantly, wary and somewhat colder- if that were possible- than he had been before. "I'm sorry if I'm taking up your time. I'll give it to Jareth to read and he'll give you a more thorough review."

The Peshawa stood up and began to roll up the paper, shutting the thick booklet that Saxony had given to him as a detailed index and cross-reference of the agreement that Sarah had signing.

Saxony sighed and not for the first time wished that Robert would try to be easier to get along with. The man didn't try, Saxony suspected, too busy with the chip on his shoulder. Robert and Jareth were a pair, the both of them, caught in their own paranoid defiance against the world's expectations.

"That would be good," he said, repressing the urge to tell Robert that he didn't care about Jareth's political considerations over a peshawa's understanding. "Take it to him, then."

He made it an order on purpose.

Robert didn't hesitate. He offered a half-sequant and slipped silently from the room. He shut the door behind him, and began the walk to the gaming room two floors below. He would have told Saxony that Jareth was busy cultivating an image if Saxony hadn't been so brusque, but then Saxony never had learned how to read him very well.

He smiled and offered a brief salute to Nico as he passed the man, not bothering to stop because his humourous brain reminded him that he was on an important mission.

Jareth was sitting in the typical circle of men, a game of dice abandoned for a drink and a talk. There was some measure of raucous laughter and then the noise stopped when Robert opened the door and looked to Jareth.

Gracefully, of course. Robert almost choked trying not to laugh at the consternation on the other men's faces.

"May I enter?" he asked docilely.

Jareth had his back to him, but he put his hand up and beckoned him on, still talking as though he hadn't a care in the world. "Pol, you need another drink."

A xaroparson fetched up next to Pol just as Robert dropped elegantly to the floor beside Jareth's seat.

A quick cut of mismatched eyes under slightly heavy eyelids and Jareth only held out his hand.

A blue-haired young man cleared his throat and nervously began to talk about a recent trip to his cousin. "Mad bastard," he laughed, his voice drifting a little too high, "Keeps pigs in his dining hall."

Robert gave Jareth the obviously professional document with the very obvious seal of the Gherengh King on it and remained exactly where he was. He didn't turn his head. He kept watch on Jareth's face.

"What is it, Jareth?" Pol asked.

Robert knew Pol by sight. He'd never met him. Apparently he was a new lordling in some minor country that Jareth had advised on land issues at some time during their separation.

"Business, Pol," Jareth replied absently, "Business as usual."

"You work too hard," Leeman Brace slithered, playing catch with the dice.

"I must find something to do between leisure hours," the Goblin King retorted. He put the document back in Robert's hand. "Take it back, love, and I'll follow you there in ten minutes."

Love.

Not truina, as he had sometimes done in the past, but love.

Robert felt a moment's worry and then dismissed it under his current strange humour. Why not be a little reckless? Why not keep everyone else guessing? He would return to Earth and Karen and Toby in a few weeks but while he had the chance, he would enjoy this indulgence. He felt his lips curl up but nodded and rose, leaving.

Jareth grasped his wrist and suddenly pulled him over into his lap.

"Good God!"

Robert was a little surprised too, never mind the man who swore. Pol spilled his drink halfway through a swallow and had to be thumped on the back.

"Ghouls take you for a scare monger," the blue-haired young idiot said, frowning as he tried to pat down the hair on the back on his neck that had risen in fright.

Jareth laughed softly at the look on Robert's face. "I assure you, friend," he whispered, "You couldn't have resisted it either." He wasn't looking at the blue-haired man.

"Take it to your rooms, Jareth," Pol said crossly. He removed his jacket. "My best jacket. How will I get the stains out?"

Jareth settled Robert comfortably in his lap- not an easy feat with a man equal in height and weight to himself- and his smile sharpened to a smirk. He tapped Robert's knee. "Love?" he prompted.

Robert sighed inwardly. "Try sea foam," he said quietly, "It should lift most of the stains."

"And the rest of them?"

"A good washerman," Brace chuckled, "Let it go, Pol. You're a cowardly fool to choke like that."

Jareth rested his head back against the couch and motioned Robert's brown head down closer to his lips. "Has Sarah signed?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Damn the girl."

"Saxony is still open to negotiations, he said."

"Set a time after four, truina. I'll finish with these people."

Robert nodded and asked, "Can I get up now," very seriously.

Jareth thought about it, his head laid back against the couch. He hummed as though deep in thought. And then he shrugged and let go. "Go on, then. Wait for me."

A ripple of a thrill seemed go through the circle gathered so silently around them. Robert didn't see any reason to blush like a schoolgirl. Almost all the men with the exception of a few were young and impetuous. Jareth cultivated them as the easily manipulated targets they were. Just because he could, and just because he felt he had every right to flaunt just a little, he stopped just behind Jareth chair and offered a sequant to the group before swanning away.

The silence didn't end when he was gone.

It didn't break altogether until finally Pol said, "Damn me, I don't know why you're still here, Jareth!" And everyone laughed.

Jareth himself found it a challenging question. He liked the young men. They were charming, and humorous, and he didn't feel the need to stand on ceremony with them. They were also an easy source of admiration, an ingredient very necessary for the maintenance of his ego. But he had a more than willing companion waiting in his rooms and Robert's brain was worth three of any he was surrounded with.

"Robert can wait," he replied, sitting up to pick up his glass from the table.

"What manner of strange rituals are taking place in your rooms at this moment, I would love to know," Pol teased, "Everyone knows about the iiga and that little trick with the silk ties. They have a name for it. What was it again?"

Jareth looked at the dice rattling in Brace's hand. "Watch your tongue, cur."

"What?"

"Or mongrel, if you prefer."

"Mongrel!"

"Canine ancestry, wasn't it?" Jareth flicked a smile to the indignant young man. "Or was that just your mother?"

"I'll have you know," Pol quivered, ignoring the bellows of laughter around him, "I'll have you know that peripeds are not of canine ancestry! Besides, all your knowledge of canines comes from the humans who- no, stop laughing, you bastards- who abuse the poor creatures and don't allow the development of their marked intelligence. I said stop laughing!"

"All this talk of canines," Brace was in fine fettle, his sharp fangs prominently on display, "Just call them dogs. Such a new understanding of the term 'bitch'."

"I never said that," Jareth murmured. Mostly unheeded. Having instigated the riot, he now sat back and enjoyed its unfolding.

"You mother-cursed son of a…"

"Not right, Pol, take it back," the blue-haired man objected, "Leave the mothers out of it."

Pol rounded on him. "Afraid, Germaine?"

Germaine went red, not an attractive combination for naturally coffee-coloured skin and blue hair. His full lips went decided thin. "What the hell do you mean?"

"Your mother wasn't exactly an angel, Germaine, we all know that."

Brace laughed. "In certain religions she's the reward for the angels, but that's about it."

"Not likely," someone snorted, "Those are always virgins."

Germaine bounded to his feet and began to shout, foaming at the mouth as his eyes went red. Pol was the target of his attack and Pol wasn't about to take it sitting down. In minutes they were stripped to shirt sleeves and threatening each other across the table.

Jareth quietly stood up and left the room, content to have brought a little excitement to the day. By nightfall, whomsoever was left of all these favoured people would have wild versions of the bloodshed in the gaming room over a game of dice.

He found Sarah standing at the door of his rooms, still half-sleep but looking paranoid.

"Something wrong?" Jareth asked.

"The contract's gone," Sarah said immediately, "It was on my desk and I just woke up and it was gone! I don't know who took it but someone must have come into my room and stolen it. Who'd do something like that?"

"It's not stolen, Lannon," Jareth reassured him, "Robert has it in my suite. Come in and talk to us about it."

"You're not busy?"

"Not today. Perhaps tomorrow. Are you?"

Sarah looked around. "I'm free right now," he allowed, smiling up at his father.

Jareth politely held the door open for him.

"Hey, Dad," Sarah called.

"Hi, honey. I thought Saxony had you. Did you have a good sleep?"

"You came into my room? Did you take the paper on the desk?" Sarah asked anxiously.

Robert nodded and pointed to it on Jareth's writing case. "Saxony asked me to take it to Jareth," he told her, "Wanted to make sure we were satisfied."

Jareth fell into a chair with a sigh and Robert stood up wordlessly to pick his coat up from where he had dropped it and put it properly over the back of a chair. Then Robert got a glass of water and opened the windows.

"These colours are giving me a headache," he complained.

Sarah giggled. "It's supposed to be like a church," he pointed out, "You're supposed to feel refreshed and safe in this place."

"A Church is more than a pane of blue glass," Jareth said, "Perhaps an altar would do it."

"They have those, too," Sarah said, pointing to the little tables with works of art. "Pick a God you like and pray all you want."

"Clever girl. Better not say that in public. Now, may I ask why you signed this without telling us first?"

Sarah groaned. "Not another lecture."

"Every mistake will get a lecture. You keep choosing those paths. Why did you sign it?" Jareth coaxed. He was trying not to demand. It was a hard choice, but Sarah wanted a little less ordering so he could try that for now and see how it worked.

"It seemed okay," Sarah hedged.

Jareth looked at him and then looked at Robert. "Alright, then," he said, handing the folded paper back to him, "I trust you know what you're doing."

"No lecture?"

"All finished."

"You don't think I made a bad choice?" Sarah pressed.

Jareth smirked at him and stood up to stretch. "If you think it suits you then so be it. Why lecture you on decisive behaviour? I'm trying to encourage it. It's the secrecy I don't like."

"Secrecy?"

"Let it go, Sarah," Robert interrupted, stifling a grin. His daughter was beginning to get that dangerous look in her eyes.

"So you will leave in four months' time," Jareth calculated, counting on his bare fingers, "Fair enough. Sufficient time to recover from this horrendous round of social madness and learn a little more. It gives you time to say farewell to your Dad. Good!"

"What?"

"Oh," Robert said, looking at Jareth, "We haven't told her I'm leaving yet."


	55. Epilogue

"Sit down, please," Karen said, flustered by the stranger turning up on her doorstep at eight in the evening, "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thank you. That's very kind of you but I won't waste your time any further."

Karen glanced involuntarily at the stairs in case Toby came down to investigate.

"I need to talk to you about your husband," Jareth plunged in.

Karen stiffened. "My husband?" She narrowed her eyes. "Have we met before, Mr. Feren? I'm so terrible with faces, I never can remember." She tried to smile but her eyes were cold.

Karen was prepared to admit that her memory for faces and names was faulty. But she was not a fool, and she was certain she would have remembered this man sitting so straight-backed in her favourite seat. He was too arrogant not to leave an impression, staring out from those strange eyes as if the world amused him and bored him by turns. He was restless, too, and if he didn't stop eyeing her house like a real estate agent she was going to lose her temper.

Jareth thought the woman a formidable type. Robert certainly had picked a winning dominant. He didn't like her at all. "We have never met but I know your husband. Robert has been staying with me for these few weeks that he has been away."

She nodded and motioned to him to go on.

"I live overseas," Jareth lied easily.

"You sound British," Karen remarked.

He smiled and shrugged. "Our European accents get so confusing these days. Robert told me about the problems you have had with him. I thought I could help."

"Mr. Feren, I'm not sure how much of this concerns you but Robert left this house and hasn't chosen to contact us since then. I'm not sure I'll ever see him again at all," Karen pointed out. She smoothed a wrinkle out in her skirt with manicured fingers and set her jaw to a stubborn line.

"Robert was certain you would say that," Jareth observed, "That's why I've come to plead on his behalf." He sounded as though he were doing her a great favour.

Karen always bristled at backhanded favours. "I'm happy to listen to any explanation at this point," she agreed.

"Sarah was in some slight trouble," Jareth began, "A situation with a friend of mine- I won't bore you with the details. She is with this friend of mine and I demanded that Robert follow her to talk sense to her. This friend is not a nice person. Robert did. Then he returned to you and you threw him out. He is devastated and wants to make amends."

Karen blinked at the most unadorned lie she had ever heard. It had to be a lie. No one could believe that Sarah would ever get mixed up with undesirable men from Poland. She barely allowed herself to go on a date with undesirable men from her own country. She could believe Robert flying halfway around the world on someone else's demand.

"Why didn't he just tell me?" Karen sighed.

"Sarah asked him not to," Jareth replied promptly. He reached up to card his fingers through shortened blond hair, just to remind himself not to let the disguise drop at any time while he was in this house. Karen didn't need to see him as he really was.

"What a ridiculous thing to do!"

"Not at all. She's very embarrassed," Jareth said.

Karen thought about that and then a thought struck her. "She's not pregnant, is she?"

"No, even worse. She has decided to stay with this friend of mine." Jareth thought of Saxony. No, Saxony wasn't a very nice person. And Sarah had chosen.

"Wherever did she meet him? Toby never mentioned a foreign gentleman and Sarah tells Toby more than she tells anyone else." Karen shot another disquieted look up at the stairs. "How terrible could this man be?"

"Oh, not a bad person, but not very likable," Jareth said cheerfully, "He has a few skeletons in his closet but haven't we all."

"Do you?" Karen asked, much against her will.

Jareth's smile widened. "Certainly. Which explains why Robert has never introduced us. I have been to this town recently but he was very protective of you."

"Was he?" Karen softened a little. "He does strange things like that all the time, Mr. Feren."

"I'm sure as a token of his love."

"He says so." Karen wasn't about to confide in this stranger she didn't know. "Where is he now, please?"

"He should be back here tomorrow. Will you take him back?"

"I'll see him and he can explain all this rubbish first."

"He won't tell you what I have just told you," Jareth warned, "Sarah doesn't want you to know."

"Why not?" Karen exclaimed, "What does she imagine I'll do to her? I'm not her mother, for God's sake! I won't order her back home. Not that I like the idea. Sarah is too lovely a girl to fall into such a sad trap, but there's nothing I can say to her. I learned that lesson a long time ago. You sound as though you know both Robert and Sarah so I imagine you know Sarah's penchant for fairytales. She always pictured me as the wicked stepmother."

Jareth bit back a triumphant grin and thought admiringly of his daughter's candour. "How troubling," he said sympathetically.

"No. She was very good about being polite and listening. I believe we get on in our own way. But we're not close. Sarah won't listen to me."

"Perhaps she thinks you would keep Toby from her," Jareth suggested.

"I don't know why. Toby will chew my ears off if I tried. Robert is alright, isn't he?"

The half-smile faded somewhat. "He was very upset when you asked him to leave. He misses his family. An understandable situation, I believe."

Karen blushed and looked instantly younger.

Jareth suddenly wondered how old the woman really was. She didn't look far over thirty-five. An infant compared to Robert, and yet he had no doubts that this woman ruled the house. Not someone he liked, but one he could grudgingly respect.

He stood up abruptly, a cool smile on his lips. "I must leave now. Thank you for seeing me at such short notice."

"Thank you for taking so much trouble," Karen smiled. She shook his hand and led him to the door, waiting while he put on his jacket. "I'm still not entirely sure why you're here, though."

"I think I added to some tension between you and your husband. I thought it only right to help clear the air," Jareth told her, "Besides, I wanted to meet you."

Karen was hit with an unexpected self-consciousness at what those eyes were seeing. She smoothed her skirt again, though this time her fingers were less certain.

Surprisingly, her guest gave a soft laugh, and turned to go. "Don't mention this little meeting when you see your husband. He wouldn't be pleased to know I was here, or what I told you."

Karen shut the door on him and slumped with her back against it for a rare moment of absolute bewilderment. The entire situation seemed so surreal now that she could hardly believe it had happened.

Outside, on the sidewalk, Jareth got rid of the disguise he had affected, tired with its upkeep. He stretched and relaxed his shoulders for a moment, looking around at the quiet neighbourhood. Something trickled down his spine and he whirled around, caught in the porch light. No one was on the porch but instinct made him look up.

A pair of very blue, very round child's eyes were staring at him from an upstairs window. A pair of glasses were perched precariously on a crooked nose.

Jareth broke into a smile and waved.

A moment's hesitation and then Toby waved back.

Jareth disappeared.

He reappeared in the throne room of his Castle, falling into his chair and remembering the blond little infant he had sat on his knee. Unbidden that ridiculous song came to mind and he began to hum the tune, picturing Toby's smile. Very much like Robert, but with something missing.

The Goblin King rose from his seat and went looking for the subject of his thoughts, running him down to earth in the rooms set so strategically apart from the Castle.

Robert was packing.

Jareth only watched him for a moment, and just for a moment felt more than disappointment that he wouldn't see the room occupied again for a while. If ever. Because Robert had never said he would return. The option was always open. Jareth had the feeling it always would be, no matter if there were other contenders.

Robert picked up the feel of magic before very long and turned, not put out by the silent intruder at his back. "I was looking for you," he said distractedly, "Troy said one of the goblins had got his head stuck in a cannon again. Sarah's trying to get it out."

"Tell her to fire the cannon," Jareth said.

"That's a bit too permanent, don't you think?" Robert's smile faltered when he saw the calm façade fall. "You're upset. I can stay for a while more. There's no guarantee that Karen will even talk to me so it doesn't matter when I go back. Is that what you want?"

Jareth looked at him. "I thought it was what you wanted?"

"It is."

"Then by all means," Jareth agreed, "Go. Leave me to my melancholy."

Robert dropped the article of something-or-other into his case and snapped the case shut. He hefted it off the bed and put it on the floor. Then he shook his head, picked it up and dragged out of the bedroom into the living room. Dusting of his hands, he snagged Jareth by his sleeve and pulled him into the bedroom. He shut the door for good measure.

"I'm not leaving till tomorrow," he said tellingly.

"I get a goodbye this time," Jareth interpreted.

"A very long goodbye," Robert laughed, jerking his head to the window, "Come on."

They stood at the window and Jareth didn't find the view so rewarding as the glow of sun on his lover's shirt.

"Jareth, you won't interfere with Karen and me, will you?" Robert asked.

Jareth found the anxiety in green eyes very off-putting. "What do you mean?"

"If she takes me back. You won't try and play games with us, will you? Look for revenge?"

"I've known where you were for a number of years before this. I didn't try it then, I won't try it now," Jareth promised, "But I do expect you to come back eventually. Earth women I can stand. But no one else, Robert. I won't allow it."

It was hard to break the habits of a lifetime. Robert took it philosophically and felt he understood the fear lurking behind those dictatorial words.

"As you wish," he said submissively.


End file.
